Hycy almost, if not altogether, lost his equanimity by the contemptuous sarcasm implied in these words.  “Father,” said he, to save trouble, and to prevent you and me both from thrashing the wind in this manner, I think it right to tell you that I have no notion of marrying such a girl as Cavanagh’s daughter.”

“No,” continued his mother, “nor if you had, I wouldn’t suffer it.”

“Very well,” said the father; “is that your mind?”

“That’s my mind, sir.”

“Well, now, listen to mine, and maybe, Hycy, I’ll taiche you better manners and more respect for your father; suppose I bring your brother home from school,—­suppose I breed him up an honest farmer,—­and suppose I give him all my property, and lave Mr. Gentleman Hycy to lead a gentleman’s life on his own means, the best way he can.  There now is something for you to suppose, and so I must go to my men.”

He took up his hat as he spoke and went out to the fields, leaving both mother and son in no slight degree startled by an intimation so utterly unexpected, but which they knew enough of him to believe was one not at all unlikely to be acted on by a man who so frequently followed up his own determinations with a spirit amounting almost to obstinacy.

“I think, mother,” observed the latter, “we must take in sail a little; ‘the gentleman’ won’t bear the ironical to such an extent, although he is master of it in his own way; in other words, Mr. Burke won’t bear to be laughed at.”

“Not he,” said his mother, in the tone of one who was half angry at him on that very account, “he’ll bear nothing.”

“D—­n it, to tell that vulgar bumpkin, Cavanagh, I suppose in a state of maudlin drunkenness, that he would make me marry his daughter—­to oblige, him!—­contempt could go no further; it was making a complete cipher of me.”

“Ay, but I’m disturbed about what he said going out, Hycy.  I don’t half like the face he had on him when he said it; and when he comes to discover other things, too, money matthers—­there will be no keepin the house wid him.”

“I fear as much,” said Hycy; “however, we must only play our cards as well as we can; he is an impracticable man, no doubt of it, and it is a sad thing that a young fellow of spirit should be depending on such a—­

     “‘Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon,
     How can you bloom so fresh and fair,
     How can ye chant, ye little birds,
     And I sae weary fu’ o’ care, &c., &c.

“Well, well—­I do not relish that last hint certainly, and if other projects should fail, why, as touching the fair Katsey, it might not be impossible that—­however, time will develop.  She is a fine girl, a magnificent creature, no doubt of it, still, most maternal relative, as I said, time will develop—­by the way, Mrs. M’Mahon, the clodhopper’s mother, is to be interred to-morrow, and I suppose you and ’the gentleman’ will attend the funeral.”