“There was nothing going on between us.”
“I say there was;—and to go and invaigle me into your schames without knowing a word about it!—It was a murdhering shame of you—and av’ I do have to pay for it, I’ll never forgive you.”
“That’s right, mother; quarrel with me about it, do. It was I made you bring Anty down here, wasn’t it? when I was up in Dublin all the time.”
“But to go and put yourself in the power of sich a fellow as Moylan! I didn’t think you were so soft.”
“Ah, bother, mother! Who’s put themselves in the power of Moylan?”
“I’ll moyle him, and spoil him too, the false blackguard, to turn agin the family—them as has made him! I wondher what he’s to get for swearing agin us?”—And then, after a pause, she added in a most pathetic voice “oh, Martin, to think of being dragged away to Galway, before the whole counthry, to be made a conspirather of! I, that always paid my way, before and behind, though only a poor widdy! Who’s to mind the shop, I wondher?—I’m shure Meg’s not able; and there’ll be Mary’ll be jist nigh her time, and won’t be able to come! Martin, you’ve been and ruined me with your plots and your marriages! What did you want with a wife, I wondher, and you so well off!”—and Mrs Kelly began wiping her eyes, for she was affected to tears at the prospect of her coming misery.
“Av’ you take it so to heart, mother, you’d betther give Anty a hint to be out of this. You heard Daly tell her, that was all Barry wanted.”
Martin knew his mother tolerably well, or he would not have made this proposition. He understood what the real extent of her sorrow was, and how much of her lamentation he was to attribute to her laudable wish to appear a martyr to the wishes and pleasures of her children.
“Turn her out!” replied she, “no, niver; and I didn’t think I’d ’ve heard you asking me to.”
“I didn’t ask you, mother,—only anything’d be betther than downright ruin.”