Byron, not
heeding him. "Yes; I think we are. There is a certain--Are you
married, Cashel?" with sudden mistrust.
"Ha! ha! ha!" shouted Cashel. "No; but I hope to be, some day," he
added, venturing to glance again at Lydia, who was, however,
attentively observing Mrs. Byron.
"Well, tell me everything about yourself. What are you? Now, I do
hope, Cashel, that you have not gone upon the stage."
"The stage!" said Cashel, contemptuously. "Do I look like it?"
"You certainly do not," said Mrs. Byron, whimsically--"although you
have a certain odious professional air, too. What did you do when
you ran away so scandalously from that stupid school in the north?
How do you earn your living? Or DO you earn it?"
"I suppose I do, unless I am fed by ravens, as Elijah was. What do
you think I was best fitted for by my education and bringing up?
Sweep a crossing, perhaps! When I ran away from Panley, I went to
sea."
"A sailor, of all things! You don't look like one. And pray, what
rank have you attained in your profession?"
"The front rank. The top of the tree," said Cashel, shortly.
"Mr. Byron is not at present following the profession of a sailor;
nor has he done so for many years," said Lydia.
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