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Updated: May 26, 2025
Stafford felt that something had to be said, but for the life of him, for the first time in his experience, he couldn't hit upon the thing to say. "Good-afternoon" seemed to him too banal, commonplace; and he could think of nothing else for a moment. However, it came at last. "Will you be so good as to tell me if I am far from Carysford?" he asked.
And then he went down and joined Howard in the room he had ordered. Lake hotels may lack the splendour to which we are all growing accustomed, and of which, alas! we are also growing rather wearied, but they are most of them extremely comfortable and cosy; and The Woodman at Carysford was no exception to the rule.
He was leaving on an earlier train than the others, having decided to pass through Boston and Deptford, at which latter place he meant to leave Sagamore for the winter in care of the manager of his mother's farm. In the big hall he passed Marion, and stopped to take his leave. No, he would do no hunting this season either at Carysford or with the two trial packs at Eastwood.
He was auditor and registrar of the Royal Hospital of Kilmainham, and a Chamberlain of the Court of Exchequer. He sat in parliament several years for Carysford, and was, in 1747 raised to the peerage by George II., being created Baron Mornington. His son, Garret, was, in 1760, created Viscount Wellesley and Earl of Mornington.
"Thank you for bringing it to me," she said; "it was very good of you." "Oh, I hadn't to bring it far," said Stafford. "I am staying at The Woodman Inn, at Carysford." "Oh," she said; "you are a tourist you are fishing?" Stafford could not bring himself to say that he was the son of the man who had built the great white house, which, no doubt, her father and she resented.
"But, look here, there's no need for me to keep you; Pottinger will drive you to this place, Carysford, where we stay the night I've engaged rooms and you can have a warm bath and get into the dress-clothes after which you are hankering. When I've caught a fish or two I'll come on after you. Don't argue, now!"
Stafford handed him the reins so that he himself might get out his cigar-case, and with some little difficulty, and assisted by Pottinger's soaked hat, the two gentlemen got their cigars alight. "There isn't a decent hotel for miles," explained Stafford. "There is only a small inn at a little place called Carysford. I looked it out on the map.
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