At length Doctor Colligan came, and Barry made a great effort to appear
unconcerned and in good humour.

"And how is she now, doctor?" he said, as they sat down to table.

"Is it Anty?--why, you know I didn't mean to see her since I was here
this morning, till nine o'clock."

"Oh, true; so you were saying. I forgot. Well, will you take a glass of
wine?"--and Barry filled his own glass quite full.

He drank his wine at dinner like a glutton, who had only a short
time allowed him, and wished during that time to swallow as much as
possible; and he tried to hurry his companion in the same manner. But
the doctor didn't choose to have wine forced down his throat; he wished
to enjoy himself, and remonstrated against Barry's violent hospitality.

At last, dinner was over; the things were taken away, they both drew
their chairs over the fire, and began the business of the evening--the
making and consumption of punch. Barry had determined to begin upon the
subject which lay so near his heart, at eight o'clock. He had thought
it better to fix an exact hour, and had calculated that the whole
matter might be completed before Colligan went over to the inn. He
kept continually looking at his watch, and gulping down his drink, and
thinking over and over again how he would begin the conversation.

"You're very comfortable here, Lynch," said the doctor, stretching his
long legs before the fire, and putting his dirty boots upon the fender.

"Yes, indeed," said Barry, not knowing what the other was saying.