“About the dinner!” “What about it?” said Corny, proudly: “whether he comes, stays, or goes, I’ll not have a scrap, or an iota of it changed,” added he in a despotic tone. “_Wheugh_.’” said Betty, “one would not like to have a dinner of scraps--for there’s nothing else to-day for him.” “Then if there _is_ nothing else, there _can_ be nothing else,” said the priest, very philosophically. “But when strangers come to dine, one would make a bit of an exertion, if one could,” said Betty. “It’s his own fault to be a stranger,” said Father Jos, watching his majesty’s clouding countenance; then whispering to Betty, “that was a faulty string you touched upon, Mrs. Betty; and can’t you make out your dinner without saying any thing?” “A person may speak in this house, I suppose, besides the clergy, Father Jos,” said Mrs. Betty, under her breath. Then looking out of the window, she added, “He’s half-way over the lake, and he’ll make his own apologies good, I’ll engage, when he comes in; for he knows how to speak for himself as well as any gentleman--and I don’t doubt but he’ll get my Micky made an exciseman, as he promised to; and sure he has a good right--Isn’t he a cousin of King Corny’s? wherefore I’d wish to have all things proper. So I’ll step out and kill a couple of chickens--won’t I?” “Kill what you please,” said King Corny; “but without my warrant, nothing killed or unkilled shall come up to my table this day--and that’s enough. No more reasoning--quit the subject and the room, Betty.” Betty quitted the room; but every stair, as she descended to the kitchen, could bear witness that she did not quit the subject; and for an hour afterwards, she reasoned against the obstinacy and folly of man, and the chorus in the kitchen moralized, in conformity and commiseration--in vain. Meantime Father Jos, though he regretted the exertions which Mrs. Betty might discreetly have made in favour of a good dinner, was by no means, as he declared, a friend or _fauterer_ of Sir Ulick O’Shane--how could he, when Sir Ulick had recanted?--The priest looked with horror upon the apostasy--the King with contempt upon the desertion of his party. “Was he sincere any way, I’d honour him,” said Cornelius, “or forgive him; but, not to be ripping up old grievances when there’s no occasion, can’t forgive the way he is at this present double-dealing with poor Harry Ormond--cajoling the grateful heart, and shirking the orphan boy that he took upon him to patronise. Why there I thought nobly of him, and forgave him all his sins, for the generous protection he afforded the son of his friend.” “Had Captain Ormond, the father, no fortune?” asked the priest.