Great was the excitement and bustle in the Kennyfeck family on the arrival of a brief note from Roland Cashel, setting forth that the house at Tubbermore was at length in a state to receive his guests, who were invited for the following Wednesday.

Although this visit had rarely been alluded to in Cashel's presence, it was a very frequent topic of the family in secret committee, and many were the fears inspired by long postponement that the event would never come off. Each, indeed, looked forward to it with very different feelings. Independent of all more purely personal views, Mrs. Kennyfeck speculated on the immense increase of importance she should obtain socially, in the fact of being domesticated in the same house with a commander of the forces and his lady, not to speak of secretaries, aides-de-camp, and Heaven knows what other functionaries. The young ladies had prospective visions of another order; and poor Kennyfeck fancied himself a kind of agricultural Metternich, who was about, at the mere suggestion of his will, to lay down new territorial limits on the estate, and cut and carve the boundaries at his pleasure.

Aunt Fanny, alone, was not warmed by the enthusiasm around her; first of all, there were grave doubts if she could accompany the others, as no precise invitation had ever been accorded to her; and although Mrs. Kennyfeck stoutly averred “she was as good as asked,” the elder daughter plainly hinted at the possible awkwardness of such a step, Olivia preserving between the two a docile neutrality.

“I 'm sorry for your sake, my dear,” said Miss O'Hara to Olivia, with an accent almost tart, “because I thought I might be useful.”

“It is very provoking for all our sakes,” said Miss Kennyfeck, as though quietly suffering the judgment to be pronounced; “we should have been so happy all together.”

“If your father was any good, he 'd manage it at once,” said Mrs. K., with a resentful glance towards poor Mr. Kennyfeck, who, with spectacles on his forehead, and the newspaper on his knee, fancied he was thinking.

“We should have some very impertinent remark upon it, I'm certain,” said Miss K., who, for reasons we must leave to the reader's own acuteness, was greatly averse to her aunt accompanying them, “so many of one family! I know how Linton will speak of it.”

“Let him, if he dare; I wonder whose exertions placed Cashel himself in the position he enjoys,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, angrily, and darting a look of profound contempt at her husband, recognizing, doubtless, the axiom of the ignoble means through which Providence occasionally effects our destinies.

“I can remain here, mamma, for that matter,” said Olivia, in a voice of angelic innocence.

“Sweet—artless creature,” whispered her sister, “not to know how all our devices are exercised for her.”

“It 's really too provoking, Fanny,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “you were just beginning to acquire that kind of influence over him which would be so serviceable, and once in the country, where so many opportunities for joining him in his walks would occur, I calculated immensely on your assistance.”

“Well, my dear, it can't be helped,” sighed Aunt Fanny.

“Could n't we allude to it to-day, when Cashel calls, and say something about your going away to the country and our regrets at parting, and so on? Olivia, you might do that very easily.”

“It wouldn't do for Olivia,” said Aunt Fanny, very sententiously.

“Quite right, aunt,” chimed in Miss Kennyfeck; “that would be like old Admiral Martin, who shot away all his ammunition firing salutes.”

“Mr. Kennyfeck!” said his spouse, with a voice of command; “I vow he is deafer every day—Mr. Kennyfeck, you must call on Mr. Cashel this morning, and say that we really cannot think of inflicting him with an entire family; that you and I alone—or you and Olivia—”

“No—no, Mr. Kennyfeck and Caroline,” interposed Aunt Fanny, “say that.”

“Thanks for the preference,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with a short nod, “I am to play lightning-conductor; isn't it so?”

“Or shall I propose going alone?” interposed Mr. Kennyfeck, in all the solemnity of self-importance.

“Is n't he too bad?” exclaimed his wife, turning to the others; “did you ever conceive there could be anything as dull as that man? We cannot trust you with any part of the transaction.”

“Here comes Mr. Cashel himself,” said Miss Kennyfeck; as a phaeton drove rapidly to the door, and Cashel, accompanied by a friend, descended.

“Not a word of what we were speaking, Mr. Kennyfeck!” said his wife, sternly, for she reposed slight reliance on his tact.

“Who is with him?” whispered Olivia to her sister; but not heeding the question, Miss Kennyfeck said,—

“Take my advice, Livy, and get rid of your duenna. You 'll play your own game better.”

Before there was time for rejoinder, Lord Charles Frobisher and Cashel entered the drawing-room.

“You received my note, I hope, Mrs. Kennyfeck,” said Roland, as he accepted her cordially offered hand. “I only this morning got Linton's last bulletin, and immediately wrote off to tell you.”

“That is significant,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck to Olivia. “To give us the earliest intelligence.”

“I trust the announcement is not too abrupt.”

“Of course not,—our only scruple is, the largeness of our party. We are really shocked at the notion of inflicting an entire family upon you.”

“Beware the Bear,” whispered Lord C., in a very adroit undertone,—“don't invite the aunt.”

“My poor house will only be the more honored,” said Cashel, bowing, and sorely puzzled how to act.

“You'll have a very numerous muster, Cashel, I fancy,” said Lord Charles, aloud; “not to speak of the invited, but those 'UmbrÆ,' as the Romans call them, who follow in the suite of such fascinating people as Mrs. White.”

“Not one too many, if there be but room for them; my anxiety is, that my personal friends should not be worst off, and I have come to beg, if not inconvenient, that you would start from this on Tuesday.”

“Do you contract to bring us all down?” said Frobisher. “I really think you ought; the geography of that district is not very familiar to most of us. What says Miss Kennyfeck?”

“I like everything that promises pleasure and amusement.”

“What says her sister?” whispered Cashel to Olivia.

“How do you mean to travel, Mr. Cashel?” said she, in a tone which might be construed into perfect artlessness or the most intense interest.

“With you—if you permit,” said Cashel, in a low voice. “I have been thinking of asking Mrs. Kennyfeck if she would like to go down by sea, and sail up the Shannon. My yacht has just arrived.”

“Mamma cannot bear the water, or it would be delightful,” said Olivia.

“Cannot we manage a lady patroness, then?” said Cashel; “would Miss O'Hara kindly consent?”

“Aunt Fanny, Mr. Cashel wishes to speak to you.”

“Gare la tante!” said Frobisher, between his teeth.

“We were speaking—or rather, I was expressing a hope,” said Cashel, diffidently, “that a yacht excursion round the southern coast, and so up the Shannon, might not be an inappropriate way of reaching Tubbermore. Would Miss O'Hara feel any objection to be of the party?”

“With Caroline and me,” said Olivia, innocently.

Miss O'Hara smiled, and shook her head doubtfully.

“It is very tempting, Mr. Cashel,—too tempting, indeed; but it requires consideration. May I speak a word with you?” And so saying, she withdrew with Cashel into a window recess.

The interview was brief; but as they returned to the circle, Cashel was heard to say,—

“I am really the worst man in the world to solve such difficulties, for in my ignorance of all forms, I incur the risk of undervaluing them; but if you thought by my inviting Lord and Lady Kilgoff—”

“Oh, by no means. My sister would never consent to that. But I will just confer with her for an instant.”

“If the Kilgoff s are asked, it spoils all,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in reply to a whispered communication of her sister.

“I'll manage that,” said Aunt Fanny; “I half hinted you did n't like the companionship for the girls.”

“He'll invite Mrs. Leicester White, or Lady Janet, perhaps.”

“He sha'n't. I 'll take the whole upon myself.”

“You have done it, I see,” said Frobisher, coming close to Cashel, and affecting to examine his watch-guard; “and I warned you, notwithstanding.”

“What could I do?” said Cashel, hopelessly.

“What you must do later on,” said Lord Charles, coolly; “cut the whole concern altogether.”

“Have you invited the Dean, Mr. Cashel?” interposed Mrs. Kennyfeck.

“I really cannot inform you, madam. There has been so much confusion—Linton promising to do everything, and ask everybody; but the omission—if such—”

“Should be left where it is,” muttered Frobisher.

“How long should we probably be on the voyage, Mr. Cashel?” asked Miss O'Hara.

“Three—four—or five days—perhaps more.”

“I 'll give you a month's sail, and back 'Time' after all,” said Lord Charles.

“Oh, that is out of the question; we couldn't think of such an excursion,” said Aunt Fanny.

Olivia cast a most imploring look on her aunt, and was silent.

“Another point, Mr. Cashel,” said Miss O'Hara, speaking in a very low whisper; “my sister, who is so particular about her girls,—you know how they have been brought up, so rigidly, and so carefully,—she is afraid of that kind of intimacy that might possibly grow up between them and—and—” Here she came to a full stop. “Did n't I hear you speak of Lady Kilgoff?”

“Yes; I thought her exactly the kind of person you 'd like to have.”

“Oh, she is charming—most delightful; but she is a woman of the world, Mr. Cashel.” said Aunt Fanny, shaking her head.

“Indeed!” muttered Roland, not in the least guessing the drift of the remark.

“No, no, Mr. Cashel, that would never do. These sweet children have no knowledge of such people, further than the common intercourse of society. Lady Kilgoff and Mrs. White—”

“Is she another?”

“She is another, Mr. Cashel,” said Aunt Fanny oracularly.

“Then I see nothing for it but limiting the party to myself and my yacht commander,—Lieutenant Sickleton of the Navy,—and I believe we have as little of the world about us as any one could desire.”

It was full a minute or two before Miss O'Hara could satisfy herself that this speech was not uttered ironically; but the good-natured and frank look of the speaker at last dispelled the fear, and she said,—

“Well, if you really ask my opinion, I'd say, you are right. For our parts—that is, for the girls and myself, I mean—we should like it all the better, and if you would n't find us too tiresome companions—”

Miss O'Hara was interrupted here by Mrs. Kennyfeck, who, with considerable agitation in her manner said, “I must beg pardon for disturbing your agreeable tÊte-À-tÊte, Mr. Cashel, but I wish to say one word to my sister.”

As they retired together, Frobisher came up, and, drawing his arm within Roland's, led him to a window: “I say, old fellow, you are going too fast here; hold in a bit, I advise you.”

“How do you mean?—what have I done?”

“It's no affair of mine, you know, and you may say I'm devilish impertinent to mix myself up in it, but I don't like to see a fellow 'sold,' notwithstanding.”

“Pray be explicit and frank; what is it?”

“Well, if you 'll not take it ill—”

“I promise I shall not—go on.”

“Do you mean to marry that little girl yonder, with the blue flower in her hair?”

“I cannot say that I do, or that I do not,” said Roland, getting very red.

“Then, you 're making a very bad book, that's all.”

“Oh, you 're quite mistaken; I don't suspect her of the slightest feeling towards me—”

“What has that to say to it, my dear fellow?” interrupted Frobisher. “I did n't imply that she was in love with you! I wanted to warn you about the mess you 're getting into,—the family fracas; the explanation asking; the sermonizing; the letter-writing; the tears, reproaches, distractions,—ay, and the damages, too!—devilish heavy they'd be against one like you, with plenty of 'ready.' Hush! they 're coming.”

Miss O'Hara advanced towards Cashel, and Frobisher retired; her mien and carriage were, however, statelier and more imposing, with less of cordiality than before. “We cannot agree upon the details of this excursion, I find, sir; my sister's scruples, Mr. Kennyfeck's doubts,—the difficulties, in short, of every kind, are such, that I fear we must relinquish it.”

Cashel bowed deeply, without uttering a word; the insinuations of Frobisher were added in his mind to the suspicion that some secret game was being played against him, and his manly nature was insulted by the doubt.

Aunt Fanny, perhaps, perceived she had gone too far, for, reassuming her former smile, she said, “Not that we despair of one day or other taking a pleasure-trip in your beautiful vessel.”

“You do me too much honor by expressing such a hope,” said Cashel, gravely; and then turning to Frobisher, added, “Will you drive me down to Kingstown? I want to go on board for a few minutes.”

“We see you at seven o'clock I hope?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a whisper.

“I regret to have made an engagement for to-day, madam,” replied Cashel, stiffly. “Good-morning, ladies. Very sorry, Miss O'Hara, our sea intentions have been a failure. Let me hope for better luck on land.”

“Will you not be here this evening?” said Olivia, as he passed close to her, and there was in the swimming eye and tremulous voice enough to have melted a harder heart than Roland's; but this time he was proof against all blandishments, and with a very cold negative, he departed.

“There is hope for you yet, old fellow,” said Lord Charles, as he walked downstairs beside him; “you did that extremely well.”

Now, although Roland was far from knowing what he had done, or how to merit the praises, he was too well pleased with the momentary repose the flattery afforded to question further. Meanwhile, a very excited scene took place in the house they had just quitted, and to which, for a brief space, we must return.

On a sofa in one corner of the room sat Olivia Kennyfeck, pale and trembling, her eyes tearful, and her whole air bespeaking grief and agitation. At the window close by stood Miss Kennyfeck, the calm composure of her face, the ease of her attitude, the very types of internal quiet. She looked out, up the square, and playing on the woodwork of the window an imaginary pianoforte air, while in the back drawing-room sat Mrs. Kennyfeck and Miss O'Hara, side by side on a sofa, their excited looks and heightened complexions attesting the animation of the controversy, for such in reality it was.

“I thought you would go too far—I knew you would,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with an angry gesture of the hand.

“What do you mean by too far?” rejoined her sister. “Is it in the face of a letter like this that you would permit him to continue his attentions, and, worse still, let the girls go off for an excursion of maybe a week or two? Read that.”

“The letter is anonymous, and may be untrue from end to end.”

“Then why not let me test its truth by some allusion to its contents?”

“And banish him from the house ever after,” rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, bitterly. “No, no, Fanny, you mistake him very much; he isn't like one of your old County Clare admirers, that can be huffed to-day, and asked to dinner to-morrow,—not that, indeed, you showed much judgment in your management even of them.”

This allusion to Aunt Fanny's spinsterhood was too palpable to pass unnoticed, and she arose from the sofa with a face of outraged temper.

“It might be a question, my dear, between us, which had the least success,—I, who never got a husband, or you, who married that one.”

If Mr. Kennyfeck had intended by a tableau to have pointed the moral of this allusion, he could not have succeeded better, as he sat bolt upright in his chair, endeavoring through the murky cloud of his crude ideas to catch one ray of light upon all he witnessed; he looked the very ideal of hopeless stupidity. Miss O'Hara, like a skilful general, left the field under the smoke of her last fire, and Mrs. Kennyfeck sat alone, with what Homer would call “a heart-consuming rage,” to meditate on the past.