At dinner the squire had most of the conversation to himself, his loquacity and good-humor having been very much improved by a few glasses of his rich old Madeira. His daughter, on the other hand, seemed frequently in a state of abstraction, and, on more than one occasion, found herself incapable of answering several questions which he put to her. Ever and anon the timid, blushing glance was directed at Reilly, by whom it was returned with a significance that went directly to her heart. Both, in fact, appeared to be influenced by some secret train of thought that seemed quite at variance with the old gentleman's garrulity. “Well,” said he, “here we are, thank God, all safe; and it is to you, Willy, we owe it. Come, man, take off your wine. Isn't he a fine young fellow, Helen?” Helen's heart, at the moment, had followed her eyes, and she did not hear him. “Hello! what the deuce! By the banks of the Boyne, I believe the girl has lost her hearing. I say, Helen, isn't Willy Reilly here, that prevented you from being an orphan, a fine young fellow?” A sudden rosy blush suffused her whole neck and face on hearing this blunt and inconsiderate question. “What, darling, have you not heard me?” “If Mr. Reilly were not present, papa, I might give an opinion on that subject; but I trust you will excuse me now.” “Well, I suppose so; there's no getting women to speak to the point. At all events, I would give more than I'll mention that Sir Hobert Whitecraft was as good-looking a specimen of a man; I'll engage, if he was, you would have no objection to say yes, my girl.” “I look to the disposition, papa, to the moral feelings and principles, more than to the person. “Well, Helen, that's right too--all right, darling, and on that account Sir Robert must and ought to be a favorite. He is not yet forty, and for this he is himself my authority, and forty is the prime of life; yet, with an immense fortune and strong temptations, he has never launched out into a single act of imprudence or folly. No, Helen, he never sowed a peck of wild oats in his life. He is, on the contrary, sober, grave, silent--a little too much so, by the way--cautious, prudent, and saving. No man knows the value of money better, nor can contrive to make it go further. Then, as for managing a bargain--upon my soul, I don't think he treated me well, though, in the swop of 'Hop-and-go-constant' against my precious bit of blood, 'Pat the Spanker.' He made me pay him twenty-five pounds boot for an old--But you shall see him, Reilly, you shall see him, Willy, and if ever there was a greater take in--you needn't smile, He en, nor look at Willy. By the good King William that saved us from Pope, and--ahem--I beg pardon, Willy, but, upon my soul, he took me completely in. I say, I shall show you 'Hop-and-go-constant', and when you see him you'll admit the 'Hop,' but the devil a bit you will find of the 'Go-constant.'”