“That is very ungracious, Conway.  Mr. Regan is a retired pork merchant of Cork.  He has given up his business and bought an estate here, and settled down as a country gentleman.  They say his father was a pig-driver in Waterford.  That’s why he has bought a place on this side of the county.  But people have been rather shy of them; because, though he could buy three-fourths of them up, his money smells of pork.  Still, as the election is coming on, they have relaxed a bit.  He’s got the militia band, and there will be lashings of everything; and his girls are nice girls, whether their father sold pork or not.  And it would be nothing short of cruel if we, the representatives of his majesty’s army, did not put in an appearance; especially as we have doubtless eaten many a barrel of his salt pork at sea.  So put on your number one coatee and let’s be off.”

With a sign Ralph rose to carry out his orders, and he would have been still more reluctant to go had he observed the sly wink that passed between his captain and lieutenant.

“He is quite refreshing, that boy,” O’Connor said as the door closed behind Ralph.  “That adventure in the West Indies showed he has plenty of pluck and presence of mind; but he is as shy as a girl.  Though I don’t know why I should say that, for it’s mighty few of them have any shyness about them.  He will grow out of it.  I was just the same myself when I was his age.”

Lieutenant Desmond burst into a roar of laughter.

“I should have liked to have known you then, O’Connor.”

O’Connor joined in the laugh.

“It’s true though, Desmond.  I was brought up by two maiden aunts in the town of Dundalk, and they were always bothering me about my manners; so that though I could hold my own in a slanging match down by the riverside, I was as awkward as a young bear when in genteel company.  They used to have what they called tea-parties—­and a fearful infliction they were—­and I was expected to hand round the tea and cakes, and make myself useful.  I think I might have managed well enough if the old women would have let me alone; but they were always expecting me to do something wrong, and I was conscious that whatever they were doing they had an eye upon me.

“It’s trying, you know, when you hear exclamations like this:  ’The saints presarve us! if he hasn’t nearly poked his elbow into Mrs. Fitzgerald’s eye!’ or, ’See now, if he isn’t standing on Miss Macrae’s train!’ One day I let a cup of coffee fall on to old Mrs. O’Toole’s new crimson silk dress.  It was the first she had had for nine years to my knowledge, and would have lasted her for the rest of her natural life.  And if you could have heard the squall she made, and the exclamations of my aunts, and the general excitement over that wretched cup of coffee, you would never have forgotten it.