Brid. There she goes with her Latin conversation. Bedad, I guess I’ll take a nap.
[Blows out candle on table. Stage darkens.
[Enter Bernard at door.
Ber. Eleven o’clock, and Bridget is asleep. Be the Heavens, I will wake her up; too much repose is injurious to the system. Bridget—Bridget! wake up, or I’ll kick your eyes open.
Brid. (Getting up from cot.) What’s the matter? Where’s the fire?
Ber. Ye are slothful, Bridget O’Rielly. Where is Mary?
Brid. Asleep. [Aside.] May St. Peter pardhon me for the loie!
Ber. It is well. If she had gone a-spielin’ to the Hoolihan masquerade I would have got a divorce from her.
Mary. (Outside.) I didn’t try to mash the Dutch cucumber-peddler, Denny.
Ber. Bridget, you have deceived me. That is Mary’s voice.