“What! and you only just out of the post office! Oh! come, come. Have you heard that your step-son is making great running over at Noone? How would you like Belle for a daughter-in-law?” “Faith,” drawing forth and flourishing a silk handkerchief, “I admire his taste.” “Well, it’s more than I do,” said Miss Dopping acrimoniously; “an idle, useless, ornamental hussey, that never gets out of bed till twelve in the day, and that can’t do a hand’s turn beyond trimming a bonnet, and squalling French songs--and I am not saying _anything_ about her temper. However, he has private means and he will want them all----” “Oh, he is not serious,” interrupted the Major, speaking hastily, and with visible alarm. “There is nothing in it, upon my sacred word of honour. Of course, he admires Belle, we all do; he is not a marrying man; he has no idea of marrying.” “But _she_ has, and he is always there, singing and tea-drinking; more by token he has nothing else to do.” “I’m after a horse for him, but he is so plaguey hard to please.” “Yes, he’s not to be pleased with one of your old garrons; and let me tell you this, Tom Malone, that if you can’t put your hand on something better soon, it’s a lady’s hack he will be wanting.” “I see,” nodding his head several times. “The wind of the word is enough for Tom Malone. I’ll write to my cousin to-night. I don’t want the poor fellow to be hooked like that,” he added, with a keen sense of favours to come. “I’ll write----No, by Jove, as I am near the post office, I’ll telegraph! I’ll just run over now.” The Major’s running was of course a mere figure of speech, a sort of hurried waddle; he lost no time and clattered downstairs, and speedily despatched the following message to his cousin, Mike Malone: “Rail at once your artillery mare, or Clancy’s colt. Leave price to me. Guarantee satisfaction”; to which an answer came that same evening: “Mare sold, am sending Clancy’s colt.” CHAPTER IX. CLANCY’S COLT. “His manliness won every heart.” --ASHLEY. Behold a lovely morning in late November--a morning borrowed from Spring, as bright and sunny as if it had been advanced by the liberal month of May. True, that as yet there had been but little frost, that the South of Ireland is proverbially mild, and the pleasure-ground at Bridgetstown a notoriously sheltered and favoured spot. Chrysanthemums--yellow and brown--still braved the nipping wintry air, hollyhocks, dahlias, and pale monthly roses as yet held up their heads; laurels and holly glistened in seasonable green, and a gorgeous Virginia creeper flaunted along the grey garden wall.