"Whining?" Mrs. Foley ejaculated.
"Well, sort of moaning as if he was scratching a sore ear. And then he howled."
"Howled!" Mrs. Foley cried. "Th' nerve iv ye!"
"What's the matter?" Angus asked. "It sounded like a lonesome pup to me."
"Did ut, indade!" snorted Mrs. Foley. "Ye big, on-mannerly blackgyard, that was me, singin'!"
"Singing?" Angus gasped.
"Singin'," Mrs. Foley repeated firmly. "An' a sweet song, too, a rale Irish song. Color blind in th' ears, ye are, ye long lummix! May th' divil—But phwat's the use? Th' ign'rance iv ye is curse enough!"
"What's the matter, Mary?" Faith Winton's voice asked from the door. "You're not quarrelling with Angus Mackay, I hope."
"I wud not lower mesilf!" Mrs. Foley replied loftily, "though he said me singin' was like the howlin's iv a purp."
"No, no," Angus protested, "I didn't mean that. I heard your singing, too, and it was fine."