‘I shall not have the least objection,’ returned William Henry in the same light tone—though his taking it upon himself to say so was significant enough of his confidence in his position—’but I am afraid you will not have an early opportunity of relieving your mind of its weight of gratitude. Talbot goes home to-morrow by the Irish packet.’ ‘Then you saw him after all, before he left this afternoon,’ cried Margaret. ‘Why, I understood that he had fled to avoid your thanks.’ ‘That was my father’s view,’ said William Henry, ‘and such a touching one that I had not the heart to combat it; but as a matter of fact I did see Talbot for one moment, and of course I thanked him.’ ‘Oh! Willie, Willie, why will you always make yourself out worse than you are?’ exclaimed Margaret reproachfully. ‘I think we had better say nothing about it,’ observed the antiquary thoughtfully. Margaret looked up rather sharply at him; she thought his words had reference to William Henry’s modest concealment of his own virtues, and that he was disputing the fact; but, strange to say, though that estimable young man was before his eyes, Mr. Erin was not thinking of him at all. ‘We will leave others to say what they like,’ continued he, ‘and fight it out among themselves. In twenty-four hours the whole town will be talking of nothing else.’ ‘You mean about the play, sir?’ suggested William Henry. ‘Well, of course; what the devil else should I mean?’ returned the antiquary with irritation. It was disgusting that these two young people—for his niece looked as much at sea as his son—should be so wrapped up in one another and their commonplace affairs as to have forgotten ‘Vortigern and Rowena’ already. ‘I think it will be better to rest on our oars and wait events.’ ‘Shut our eyes and open our mouths,’ said William Henry, ‘and see what Heaven will send us.’ The remark was flippant, but the sense of it was in accordance with Mr. Erin’s views. In his exaltation of spirit he even condescended to reply in the same vein. ‘I shall open my mouth pretty wide, I can tell you, when the managers come; but we must not go to them.’ ‘You of course know best,’ said William Henry modestly. If left to himself the impetuosity of youth would have led him on the morrow, cap (and MS.) in hand, to the stage-door of the nearest theatre. ‘Fortunately, you see, we can afford to wait,’ said Mr. Erin composedly. William Henry glanced at Margaret, and Margaret dropped her eyes; Mr. Erin’s sentiments, though intended to be comforting and even exultant, were, strange to say, not shared by these young people.