'Yes, I have,' said he. 'But when I looked at them 'twas to note the colour of their eyes or some such triviality, whereas when I look at your eyes, it's as though a smiling heart leaned out of them as from a window and said, "How d'ye do?" Sure, my dear, I should love you no less if you had another guess nose, and green eyes.' (He reflectively deformed her features.) 'It's your shining perfections that I am on my knees to.'
'Are you?' she interrupted with a touch of plaintiveness. He was standing like a wooden post and there was at the least a couple of yards between them.
'Just your shining perfections. 'Faith, you have the most extraordinary charm without any perversity whatever, which is a pure miracle. I am not denying,' he continued thoughtfully, 'that there's something taking in perversity when it is altogether natural, but, to be sure, most women practise it as though it were one of the fine arts, and then it's nothing short of damnable--I beg your pardon,' he exclaimed waking up of a sudden. 'Indeed, but I don't know what I am saying at all. Rose,' and he stepped over to her, 'I have no prospects whatever in the world, but will you take them?'
Well, she did. Mr. Kelly had come to his meaning in a roundabout fashion enough, as he acknowledged that same day to Nicholas Wogan.
'Upon my conscience, but I made a blundering ass of myself,' said he.
'You would,' said Wogan. 'My dear man, why didn't you tell me of your intention and I would have written you out a fine sort of speech that you could have got by heart?'
'Sure I should have stammered over the first sentence and forgot the rest,' said Kelly with a shake of the head. 'To tell the truth, the little girl has sunk me to such a depth of humility and diffidence that I find it wonderful I said anything at all.' Then he grew silent for a minute or so. 'Nick,' said he secretly, drawing his chair a trifle closer. 'There's a question troubles me. D'ye think I should tell her of My Lady Oxford?'
'It would be entirely superfluous,' replied Wogan with decision, 'since the thing's done with.'
'But is it?' asked Kelly. 'Is it, Nick? Look you here. We thought it was done with a year ago, and up springs Mr. Scrope at Avignon. Mr. Scrope does his work and there's not the end of it. For I am carried here and so my very betrothal is another consequence. It is as though her ladyship had presented me to Rose. Well, how are we to know it's done with now? If it ends here it is very well. But, d'ye see, Nick, it was after all not the most honourable business in the world, and am I to make this great profit out of it? Well, perhaps my fears confuse my judgment. I am all fears to-day, Nick,' and he stopped for a moment and clapped his hand into his pocket.
'I'll confess to you a very childish thing,' said he. 'Look!' and out of his pocket he drew a pistol.