Kendal. 'You are late this
evening.'
'Yes,' said Ulick, entering the drawing-room, which was ruddy with
firelight, and fragrant with the breath of the conservatory, and
leaning over an arm-chair, as he tried to rub the aching out of his
brow; 'there were some accounts to finish up and my additions came
out different every time.'
'A sure sign that you ought to have left off.'
'I was just going to have told my uncle I was good for nothing to-day,
when I heard old Johns mumbling something to him about Mr. More
being unwell, and looking up, I saw that cold grey eye twinkling at
me, as much as to say he was proud to see how soon an Irishman could
be beaten. So what could I do but give him look for look, and go on
with eight and seven, and five and two, as unconcerned as he was.'
'Well,' said Mr. Kendal, 'you know I think that your uncle's apparent
indifference may be his fashion of being your best friend.'
'I'd take it like sunshine in May from a stranger, and be proud to
disappoint him,' said Ulick, 'but to call himself my uncle, and use
my mother's own eyes to look at me that way, that's the stroke! and
to think that I'm only striving to harden myself by force of habit to
be exactly like him! I'd rather enlist to-morrow, if that would not
be his greatest triumph!' he cried, pressing his hands hard on his
temple. 'It is very childish, but I could forgive him anything but
using my mother's eyes that way!'
'You will yet rejoice in the likeness,' said Mr.
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