But you won't think her plain when you see more of her—that wears off; I thought her plain, at first—I hope—'

'I hope,' said Lord Colambre, 'that you will not take it unkindly of me, my dear mother, if I tell you, at once, that I have no thoughts of marrying at present—and that I never will marry for money. Marrying an heiress is not even a new way of paying old debts—at all events, it is one to which no distress could persuade me to have recourse; and as I must, if I outlive old Mr. Quin, have an independent fortune, THERE IS NO occasion to purchase one by marriage.'

'There is no distress, that I know of, in the case,' cried Lady Clonbrony. 'Where is your imagination running, Colambre? But merely for your establishment, your independence.'

'Establishment, I want none—independence I do desire, and will preserve. Assure my father, my DEAR MOTHER, that I will not be an expense to him. I will live within the allowance he made me at Cambridge—I will give up half of it—I will do anything for his convenience—but marry for money, that I cannot do.'

'Then, Colambre, you are very disobliging,' said Lady Clonbrony, with an expression of disappointment and displeasure; 'for your father says, if you don't marry Miss Broadhurst, we can't live in Lon'on another winter.'

This said—which, had she been at the moment mistress of herself, she would not have let out—Lady Clonbrony abruptly quitted the room. Her son stood motionless, saying to himself—

'Is this my mother?—How altered!'

The next morning he seized an opportunity of speaking to his father, whom he caught, with difficulty, just when he was going out, as usual, for the day. Lord Colambre, with all the respect due to his father, and with that affectionate manner by which he always knew how to soften the strength of his expressions, made nearly the same declarations of his resolution, by which his mother had been so much surprised and offended. Lord Clonbrony seemed more embarrassed, but not so much displeased. When Lord Colambre adverted, as delicately as he could, to the selfishness of desiring from him the sacrifice of liberty for life, to say nothing of his affections, merely to enable his family to make a splendid figure in London, Lord Clonbrony exclaimed, 'That's all nonsense!—cursed nonsense! That's the way we are obliged to state the thing to your mother, my dear boy, because I might talk her deaf before she would understand or listen to anything else. But, for my own share, I don't care a rush if London was sunk in the salt sea. Little Dublin for my money, as Sir Terence O'Fay says.'

'Who is Sir Terence O'Fay, may I ask, sir?'

'Why, don't you know Terry? Ay, you've been so long at Cambridge, I forgot. And did you never see Terry?'

'I have seen him, sir—I met him yesterday at Mr. Mordicai's, the coachmaker's.'

'Mordicai's!' exclaimed Lord Clonbrony, with a sudden blush, which he endeavoured to hide by taking snuff. 'He is a damned rascal, that Mordicai! I hope you didn't believe a word he said—nobody does that knows him.'

'I am glad, sir, that you seem to know him so well, and to be upon your guard against him,' replied Lord Colambre; 'for, from what I heard of his conversation, when he was not aware who I was, I am convinced he would do you any injury in his power.'

'He shall never have me in his power, I promise him. We shall take care of that. But what did he say?'

Lord Colambre repeated the substance of what Mordicai had said, and Lord Clonbrony reiterated—'Damned rascal!—damned rascal! I'll get out of his hands; I'll have no more to do with him.' But, as he spoke, he exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness, moving continually, and shifting from leg to leg like a foundered horse.

He could not bring himself positively to deny that he had debts and difficulties; but he would by no means open the state of his affairs to his son—'No father is called upon to do that,' said he to himself; 'none but a fool would do it.'

Lord Colambre, perceiving his father's embarrassment, withdrew his eyes, respectfully refrained from all further inquiries, and simply repeated the assurance he had made to his mother, that he would put his family to no additional expense; and that, if it was necessary, he would willingly give up half his allowance.

'Not at all—not at all, my dear boy,' said his father; 'I would rather cramp myself than that you should be cramped, a thousand times over. But it is all my Lady Clonbrony's nonsense. If people would but, as they ought, stay in their own country, live on their own estates, and kill their own mutton, money need never be wanting.'

For killing their own mutton, Lord Colambre did not see the indispensable necessity; but he rejoiced to hear his father assert that people should reside in their own country.

'Ay,' cried Lord Clonbrony, to strengthen his assertion, as he always thought it necessary to do, by quoting some other person's opinion. 'So Sir Terence O'Fay always says, and that's the reason your mother can't endure poor Terry. You don't know Terry? No, you have only seen him; but, indeed, to see him is to know him; for he is the most off-hand, good fellow in Europe.'

'I don't pretend to know him yet,' said Lord Colambre. 'I am not so presumptuous as to form my opinion at first sight.'

'Oh, curse your modesty!' interrupted Lord Clonbrony; 'you mean, you don't pretend to like him yet; but Terry will make you like him. I defy you not. I'll introduce you to him—him to you, I mean—most warn-hearted, generous dog upon earth—convivial—jovial—with wit and humour enough, in his own way, to split you—split me if he has not. You need not cast down your eyes, Colambre. What's your objection?'

'I have made none, sir; but, if you urge me, I can only say that, if he has all these good qualities, it is to be regretted that he does not look and speak a little more like a gentleman.'

'A gentleman! he is as much a gentleman as any of your formal prigs—not the exact Cambridge cut, maybe. Curse your English education! 'Twas none of my advice. I suppose you mean to take after your mother in the notion that nothing can be good, or genteel, but what's English.'

'Far from it, sir; I assure you, I am as warm a friend to Ireland as your heart could wish. You will have no reason, in that respect at least, nor, I hope, in any other, to curse my English education; and, if my gratitude and affection can avail, you shall never regret the kindness and liberality with which you have, I fear, distressed yourself to afford me the means of becoming all that a British nobleman ought to be.'

'Gad! you distress me now!' said Lord Clonbrony, 'and I didn't expect it, or I wouldn't make a fool of myself this way,' added he, ashamed of his emotion, and whiffling it off. 'You have an Irish heart, that I see, which no education can spoil.