Hither he accordingly repaired, and found the squire, his daughter, and Reilly, in the green-house.

When the squire saw him he cried out, with something of a malicious triumph: "Hallo, Sir Robert! why art thou so pale, young lover?
why art thou so pale ?--and why does thy lip hang, Sir Robert ?--new men, new measures, Sir Robert--and so, 'Othello's occupation's gone,' and the Earl of Chesterfield goes to mass every Sunday, and is now able to repeat his padareem in Irish." "I am glad to find you so pleasant, Mr.Folliard; but I'm delighted to see the beautiful state of your green-house--oh, Miss Folliard!--excuse me.

Your back was to me, and you were engaged in trailing that beautiful shrub; allow me the honor of shaking hands with you." "Sir Robert, I bid you good-day, but you see that I have my garden gloves on; you will excuse me." "Oh, Miss Folliard," he replied, "your will is the spirit of the British Constitution to me." "A spirit which, I fear, you have too frequently violated, Sir Robert; but, as papa says, I believe your cruel occupation is gone--at least I hope so." "'Gad, you got it there, Sir Robert," replied her father, laughing.
"I must confess it," replied the baronet; "but I think, in order to ingratiate myself with Miss Folliard, I shall take whatever side she recommends me.

How, Mr.Folliard," he proceeded, fixing his eyes upon Reilly--"what the deuce is this?
Have you got Robinson Crusoe here ?" "We have," replied the squire; "but his man Friday has got married to a Tipperary woman, and he's now in quest of a desert, island for him and her to settle in." "I think, papa," said Helen, "that if the principles of Sir Robert and his class were carried out, he would not have far to go to look for one." "Another hit, Bob, you dog--another hit.

W'ell said, Helen--well said, I say.