“In the parlour upstairs?” said he; “the deuce she is! And what brought her here? Did she quarrel with Barry, Meg?” added he, in a whisper.
“Indeed she did, out and out,” said Meg.
“Oh, he used her horrible!” said Jane.
“He’ll hear all about that by and by,” said Meg. “Come up and see her now, Martin.”
“But does mother know she’s here?”
“Why, it was she brought her here! She fetched her down from the house, yesterday, before we was up.”
Thus assured that Anty had not been smuggled upstairs, her lover, or suitor as he might perhaps be more confidently called, proceeded to visit her. If he wished her to believe that his first impulse, on hearing of her being in the house, had been to throw himself at her feet, it would have been well that this conversation should have been carried on out of her hearing. But Anty was not an exigent mistress, and was perfectly contented that as much of her recent history as possible should be explained before Martin presented himself.
Martin went slowly upstairs, and paused a moment at the door, as if he was a little afraid of commencing the interview; he looked round to his sisters, and made a sign to them to come in with him, and then, quickly pushing open the unfastened door, walked briskly up to Anty and shook hands with her.
“I hope you’re very well, Anty,” said he; “seeing you here is what I didn’t expect, but I’m very glad you’ve come down.”
“Thank ye, Martin,” replied she; “it was very good of your mother, fetching me. She’s been the best friend I’ve had many a day.”