ver absorbed all her attention, and she
was more than half disposed to possess herself of the envelope, when Mr.
Kearney entered.

His bright blue coat and white waistcoat, a profusion of shirt-frill, and
a voluminous cravat proclaimed dinner-dress, and a certain pomposity of
manner showed how an unusual costume had imposed on himself, and suggested
an important event.

'I hope I see Miss O'Shea in good health?' said he, advancing.

'How are you, Mathew?' replied she dryly. 'When I heard that big bell
thundering away, I was so afraid to be late that I came down with one
bracelet, and I have torn my glove too.'

'It was only the first bell--the dressing-bell,' he said.

'Humph! That's something new since I was here last,' said she tartly.

'You remind me of how long it is since you dined with us, Miss O'Shea.'

'Well, indeed, Mathew, I meant to be longer, if I must tell the truth. I
saw enough the last day I lunched here to show me Kilgobbin was not what
it used to be. You were all of you what my poor father--who was always
thinking of the dogs--used to call "on your hind-legs," walking about very
stately and very miserable. There were three or four covered dishes on
the table that nobody tasted; and an old man in red breeches ran about in
half-distraction, and said, "Sherry, my lord, or Madeira?" Many's the time
I laughed over it since.' And, as though to vouch for the truth of the
mirthfulness, she lay back in her chair and shook with hearty laughter.

Before Kearney could reply--for something like a passing apoplexy had
arrested his words--the girls entered, and made their salutations.

'If I had the honour of knowing you longer, Miss Costigan,' said Miss
O'Shea--for it was thus she translated the name Kostalergi--'I'd ask you
why you couldn't dress like your cousin Kate. It may be all very well in
the house, and it's safe enough here, there's no denying it; but my name's
not Betty if you'd walk down Kilbeggan without a crowd yelling after you
and calling names too, that a respectable young woman wouldn't bargain for;
eh, Mathew, is that true?'

'There's the dinner-bell now,' said Mathew; 'may I offer my arm?'

'It's thin enough that arm is getting, Mathew Kearney,' said she, as he
walked along at her side. 'Not but it's time, too. You were born in the
September of 1809, though your mother used to deny it; and you're now a
year older than your father was when he died.'

'Will you take this place?' said Kea