“And your grandfather in the silliest of his foolish ones!” exclaimed Tiernay, as, snatching up his hat he left the cottage. CHAPTER XIX. A TÊTE-À-TÊTE INTERRUPTED Like battle-tramps The chaos of their tongues did drown reflection. Oswald. It might be thought that in a household so full of contrarieties as Tubbermore, any new plan of pleasure would have met but a meagre success. Here, were the Kilgoffs, upon one side, full of some secret importance, and already speaking of the uncertainty of passing the spring in Ireland. There, were the Kennyfecks, utterly disorganized by intestine troubles,--mother, aunt, and daughters at open war, and only of one mind for some few minutes of each day, when they assailed the luckless Kennyfeck as the “author of all evil;” Frobisher, discontented that no handicap could be “got up,” to remunerate him for the weariness of his exile; Upton, suffering under the pangs of rejection; Sir Andrew, reduced to a skeleton by the treatment against his unhappy opiate, being condemned, as “Jim” phrased it, to “two heavy sweats without body-clothes, and a drench every day;” Meek, grown peevish at the little prospect of making anything of Cashel politically; and Cashel himself, hipped and bored by all in turn, and wearied of being the head of a house where the only pleasantry existed in the servants' hall,--and they were all rogues and thieves who made it. It might be easily supposed these were not the ingredients which would amalgamate into any agreeable union, and that even a suggestion to that end would meet but few supporters. Not so; the very thought of doing “anything” was a relief: each felt, perhaps, his share of shame at the general _ennui_, and longed for whatever gave a chance of repelling it. It was as in certain political conditions in seasons of general stagnation,--men are willing even to risk a revolution rather than continue in a state of unpromising monotony. Linton, whose own plans required that the others should be full of occupation of one kind or other, was the first to give the impulse, by reminding Miss Meek that her sovereignty had, up to this time, been a dead letter. “You have positively done nothing,” said he, “since your accession. Here we are, all ready to do your bidding, only waiting for the shadow of a wish on your part. There is no obstacle anywhere; pray let us commence a series of such right royal festivities as shall cause the envy of every other sovereign in Christendom.” “I 'm sure I wish for nothing better; but nobody minds me,” said she, pouting. “What shall be the opening, then?” said Linton, taking a sheet of paper, and seating himself, in all form, to write. “A masquerade?” “By all means! A masquerade!” exclaimed a dozen voices; and at once a large circle gathered round the table where he sat. “Does the country afford materials for one?” asked Jennings.