“That's my view of it. What I say is this: I want my bit of fish, and my beefsteak, and my pint of wine, and I don't want to know that the landlord's grandfather entertained the king, or that his aunt was a lady-in-waiting. 'Be' as high as you like,' says I, 'but don't make the bill so,'--eh, Dill?” And he cackled the harsh ungenial laugh which seems the birthright of all sorry jesters; and the doctor gave a little laugh too, more from habit, however, than enjoyment. “Do you know, Dill,” said the Major, disengaging himself from the arm which his lameness compelled him to lean on, and standing still in the pathway,--“do you know that I never reach thus far without having a sort of struggle with myself whether I won't turn back and go home again. Can you explain that, now?” “It is the wound, perhaps, pains you, coming up the hill.” “It is not the wound. It's that woman!” “Miss Barrington?” “Just so. I have her before me now, sitting up behind the urn there, and saying, 'Have you had tea, Major M'Cormick?' when she knows well she did n't give it to me. Don't you feel that going up to the table for your cup is for all the world like doing homage?” “Her manners are cold,--certainly cold.” “I wish they were. It's the fire that's in her I 'm afraid of! She has as wicked an eye in her head as ever I saw.” “She was greatly admired once, I 'm told; and she has many remains of beauty.” “Oh! for the matter of looks, there's worse. It's her nature, her temper,--herself, in fact, I can't endure.” “What is it you can't endure, M'Cormick?” cried Barrington, emerging from a side walk where he had just caught the last words. “If it be anything in this poor place of mine, let me hear, that I may have it amended.” “How are ye,--how are ye?” said the Major, with a very confused manner. “I was talking politics with Dill. I was telling him how I hated _them_ Tories.” “I believe they are all pretty much alike,” said Barring-ton; “at least, I knew they were in my day. And though we used to abuse him, and drink all kind of misfortunes to him every day of our lives, there was n't a truer gentleman nor a finer fellow in Ireland than Lord Castlereagh.” “I'm sure of it. I've often heard the same remark,” chimed in Dill. “It's a pity you didn't think so at the time of the Union,” said M'Cormick, with a sneer. “Many of us did; but it would not make us sell our country. But what need is there of going back to those times, and things that can't be helped now? Come in and have a cup of tea. I see my sister is waiting for us.”