“Good heavens!” exclaimed Tiernay, rising, and pacing the room. “How inadequate are we two old men--removed from intercourse with the world, neither players nor lookers-on at the game of life--to cope with one like him, and see what he purposes to himself by this alliance! As for his affection, as for his power to feel her worth, to estimate the gentle virtues of her spotless nature, I cannot, I will not believe it.” “And for that very reason are you unfit to judge him. Your prejudices, ever against him, are rendered stronger because you cannot divine motives black enough to suit your theory; you give the benefit of all your doubts against himself.” “I know him to be a gambler in its worse sense. Not one who plays even for the gratification of those alternating vacillations of hope and fear which jaded, worn-out natures resort to as the recompense for blunted emotions and blasted ambitions, but a gambler for gain!--that foul amalgam of the miser and the knave. I 've seen him play the sycophant, too, like one who studied long his part, and knew it thoroughly. No, no, Con, it is not one like this must be husband of Mary!” “I tell you again, Tiernay, you suffer your prejudices to outrun all your prudence. The very fact that he asks in marriage a portionless girl, without influence from family, and without the advantage of station, should outweigh all your doubts twice told.” “This does but puzzle me,--nothing more,” said Tiernay, doggedly. “Were it Cashel, that high-hearted, generous youth, who made this offer--” “I must stop you, Tiernay; you are as much at fault in your over-estimate of _one_ as in your disparagement of the _other_. Cashel is not what you deem him. Ask me not how I know it. I cannot, I dare not tell you; it is enough that I do know it, and know it by the evidence of my own eyes.” “Then they have deceived you, that's all,” said Tiernay, roughly; “for I tell you, and I speak now of what my own knowledge can sustain, that he is the very soul of generosity,--a generosity that would imply recklessness, if not guided by the shrinking delicacy of an almost girlish spirit.” “Tiernay, Tiernay, you are wrong, I say,” cried Corrigan, passionately. “And _I_ say it is _you_ who are in error,” said Tiernay. “It was but this morning I held in my hands--” He stopped, stammered, and was silent. “Well,” cried Corrigan, “go on,--not that, indeed, you could convince me against what my eyes have assured; for here, upon this table, I beheld--” “Out with it, man! Tell what jugglery has been practised on you, for I see you have been duped.” “Hush! here 's Mary!” cried Corrigan, who, scarcely able to control himself, now walked the room in great agitation. “You were talking so loud,” said Mary, “that I guessed you were quarrelling about politics, and so I came to make peace.” “We were not, Mary; but Tiernay is in one of his wrong-head humors.”