“Isn’t it disastrous that young Hynes is determined upon going to America?” remarked Lady Dysart presently, as they left the garden; “just when he had learned Doolan’s ways, and Doolan _is_ so hard to please.”
“America is the curse of this country,” responded Mr. Lambert gloomily; “the people are never easy till they get there and make a bit of money, and then they come swaggering back, saying Ireland’s not fit to live in, and end by setting up a public-house and drinking themselves to death. They’re sharp enough to know the only way of making money in Ireland is by selling drink.” Lambert spoke with the conviction of one who is sure, not only of his facts, but of his hearer’s sympathy. Then seeing his way to a discussion of the matter that had brought him to Bruff, he went on, “I assure you, Lady Dysart, the amount of money that’s spent in drink in Lismoyle would frighten you. It’s easy to know where the rent goes, and those that aren’t drunken are thriftless, and there isn’t one of them has the common honesty to give up their land when they’ve ruined it and themselves. Now, there’s that nice farm, Gurthnamuckla, down by the lake-side, all going to moss from being grazed year after year, and the house falling to pieces for the want of looking after; and as for paying her rent--” he broke off with a contemptuous laugh.
“Oh, but what can you expect from that wretched old Julia Duffy?” said Lady Dysart good-naturedly; “she’s too poor to keep the place in order.”
“I can expect one thing of her,” said Lambert, with possibly a little more indignation than he felt; “that she’d pay up some of her arrears, or if she can’t, that she’d go out of the farm. I could get a tenant for it to-morrow that would give me a good fine for it and put the house to rights into the bargain.”
“Of course, that would be an excellent thing, and I can quite see that she ought to go,” replied Lady Dysart, falling away from her first position; “but what would happen to the poor old creature if she left Gurthnamuckla?”
“That’s just what your son says,” replied Lambert with an almost irrepressible impatience; “he thinks she oughtn’t to be disturbed because of some promise that she says Sir Benjamin made her, though there isn’t a square inch of paper to prove it. But I think there can be no doubt that she’d be better and healthier out of that house; she keeps it like a pig-stye. Of course, as you say, the trouble is to find some place to put her.”