“You’ll soon learn them, me dear, for ye see it’s not as if you were a real common country girl; ye have her ladyship’s manners and talk in ye somewhere, and they are bound somehow or other to come out! I tell ye this, that in a year’s time you won’t know yourself, and I won’t know you.”
“But I will always know you, Mike; and you must come over to England, and see me, if I am to have any say.”
“I think you’ll find you’ll have a good say.”
“Perhaps with his lordship, for—for”—with an effort—“my mother’s sake; but the ladies.”
“Sure, aren’t you a lady, me darlin?”
“No, no! I feel so frightened of all that’s before me.”
“And what would frighten ye? Keep a stout heart—be a good girl; what harm can come to you? One would think they’d ate yer!”
“People have a way of doing that, sometimes.”
“I know what ye mane—some bad ones, that never has a good word for a crature, and are always chewing up others and passing remarks; but the likes of them are not among the gentry!” (Poor simple Mike!) “All your friends is proud for ye, but sorry for themselves, ye being taken up out of their station. There’s one, howsomever, that will be glad of yer uprise, when he hears it.” Here Mike paused, and his expression became shrewd and personal.
Mary stared at him interrogatively, and then a sudden tinge of pink, flooded her pale face.