As the morning wore on, it brought some fashionable patrons, among them several ladies, who, after turning over and sniffing every separate bouquet, purchased half-a-dozen of the best. During her dealings with these Helen kept her sun-bonnet well pulled over her eyes, and commanded her countenance to the best of her ability, whilst they discussed her appearance in French, and declared that she was the prettiest Irish girl they had ever seen. The fame of the beautiful market-girl must have been noised abroad, for several young men came crowding around the cart, and eagerly demanded "button holes." For these she charged double prices without the slightest compunction. (Meanwhile Larry stood in the background armed with his whip!)
"A shilling!" exclaimed one of the customers, "oh, I say, come, you must not be getting these extravagant notions into your head, Kathleen Mavourneen, Eileen Aroon! One would think you had been in Covent Garden! I suppose you fancy that a pretty girl may charge what she pleases. Here's two shillings; one for the flowers, and the other for a good look in your charming face."
"'Deed," scornfully tossing back a shilling, "An' it's more than any one will ever ask to lay out on your honour's."
As the unhappy gentleman was unusually plain, his companions seemed to experience the keenest delight at this sally, and one of them, pressing forward, and taking up a bouquet, said,—
"How much for this, my prickly wild rose?"
"Two shillings, your honour."
"Too dear! say eighteen-pence, Acushla ma cree."
"Sure the times is bad, your honour, and we must live."
"And where do you live, when you are at home—where do you come from?"
"Where I'm going back to," she returned, carelessly jingling her silver in her pockets.