“Av’ I’m in want of legal advice, Mr Daly, which thank God, I’m not, nor likely to be—but av’ I war, it’s not from Barry Lynch’s attorney I’d be looking for it.”
“I’d be sorry to see you in want of it, Martin; but if you mane to keep out of the worst kind of law, you’d better have done with Anty Lynch. I’d a dale sooner be drawing up a marriage settlement between you and some pretty girl with five or six hundred pound fortune, than I’d be exposing to the counthry such a mane trick as this you’re now afther, of seducing a poor half-witted ould maid, like Anty Lynch, into a disgraceful marriage.”
“Look here, Mr Daly,” said the other; “you’ve hired yourself out to Barry Lynch, and you must do his work, I suppose, whether it’s dirthy or clane; and you know yourself, as well as I can tell you, which it’s likely to be—”
“That’s my concern; lave that to me; you’ve quite enough to do to mind yourself.”
“But av’ he’s nothing betther for you to do, than to send you here bally-ragging and calling folks out of their name, he must have a sight more money to spare than I give him credit for; and you must be a dale worse off than your neighbours thought you, to do it for him.”
“That’ll do,” said Mr Daly, knocking at the door of the inn; “only, remember, Mr Kelly, you’ve now received notice of the steps which my client feels himself called upon to take.”
Martin turned to go away, but then, reflecting that it would be as well not to leave the women by themselves in the power of the enemy, he also waited at the door till it was opened by Katty.
“Is Miss Lynch within?” asked Daly.
“Go round to the shop, Katty,” said Martin, “and tell mother to come to the door. There’s a gentleman wanting her.”
“It was Miss Lynch I asked for,” said Daly, still looking to the girl for an answer.