The latter, on opening it,
started with surprise not inferior to that with which Kathleen Cavanagh
had perused the missive addressed to her. Nor was this all. The letter
received by Bryan, as if the matter had been actually designed by the
writer, produced the selfsame symptoms of deep resentment upon him that
the mild and gentle Kathleen Cavanagh experienced on the perusal of her
own. His face became flushed and his eye blazed with indignation as
he went through its contents; after which he once more looked at the
superscription, and notwithstanding the vehement passion into which it
had thrown him, he was ultimately obliged to laugh.
"Peety," said he, resuming his gravity, "you carried a letter from Hycy
Burke to Kathleen Cavanagh to-day?"
"Who says that?" replied Peety, who could not but remember the solemnity
of his promise to that accomplished gentleman.
"I do, Peety."
"Well, I can't help you, Bryan, nor prevent you from thinking so,
sure--stick to that."
"Why, I know you did, Peety."
"Well, acushla, an' if you do, your only so much the wiser."
"Oh, I understand," continued Bryan, "it's a private affair, or intended
to be so--an' Mr. Hycy has made you promise not to spake of it."
"Sure you know all about it, Bryan; an' isn't that enough for you? Only
what answer am I to give him?"
"None at present, Peety; but say I'll see himself in a day or two.
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