Irons was prowling serenely. The pew would soon
want new flooring, Mr. Dangerfield thought, and the Castlemallard arms
and supporters, a rather dingy piece of vainglory, overhanging the main
seat on the wall, would be nothing the worse of a little fresh gilding
and paint.
'There was a claim--eh--to one foot nine inches off the eastern end of
the pew, on the part of--of the family--at Inchicore, I think they call
it,' said Dangerfield, laying his riding-whip like a rule along the top
to help his imagination--'Hey--that would spoil the pew.'
'The claim's settled, and Mr. Langley goes to the other side of the
aisle,' said Nutter, nodding to Irons, who came up, and laid his long
clay-coloured fingers on the top of the pew door, and one long, thin
foot on the first step, and with half-closed eyes, and a half bow, he
awaited their pleasure.
'The Langley family had _this_ pew,' said Dangerfield, with a side nod
to that next his lordship's.
'Yes, Sir,' said Irons, with the same immutable semblance of a smile,
and raising neither his head nor his eyes.
'And who's got it now?'
'His reverence, Dr.
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