Cashel Byron's Profession

"In such a hurry to get rid of your poor old mother, Cashel?"

"Oh, bother! you're not old. You won't mind my wanting you to go for

this once, will you?"

She smiled affectionately, put on her mantle, and turned her cheek

towards him to be kissed. The unaccustomed gesture alarmed him; he

retreated a step, and involuntary assumed an attitude of

self-defence, as if the problem before him were a pugilistic one.

Recovering himself immediately, he kissed her, and impatiently

accompanied her to the house door, which he closed softly behind

her, leaving her to walk in search of her carriage alone. Then he

stole up-stairs to the library, where he found Lydia reading.

"She's gone," he said.

Lydia put down her book, looked up at him, saw what was coming,

looked down again to hide a spasm of terror, and said, with a steady

severity that cost her a great effort, "I hope you have not

quarrelled."

"Lord bless you, no! We kissed one another like turtle-doves. At odd

moments she wheedles me into feeling fond of her in spite of myself.

She went away because I asked her to."

"And why do you ask my guests to go away?"

"Because I wanted to be alone with you. Don't look as if you didn't

understand. She's told me a whole heap of things about myself that

alter our affairs completely. My birth is all right; I'm heir to a

county family that came over with the Conqueror, and I shall have a

decent income. I can afford to give away weight to old Webber now."

"Well," said Lydia, sternly.

"Well," said Cashel, unabashed, "the only use of all that to me is

that I may marry if I like. No more fighting or teaching now."

"And when you are married, will you be as tender to your wife as you

are to your mother?"

Cashel's elation vanished. "I knew you'd think that," he said. "I am

always the same with her; I can't help it. She makes me look like a

fool, or like a brute. Have I ever been so with you?"

"Yes," said Lydia. "Except," she added, "that you have never shown

absolute dislike to me."

"Ah! EXCEPT! That's a very big except. But I don't dislike her.

Blood is thicker than water, and I have a softness for her; only I

won't put up with her nonsense. But it's different with you. I don't

know how to say it; I'm not good at sentiment--not that there's any

sentiment about it. At least, I don't mean that; but--You're fond

of me in a sort of way, ain't you?"