“Ah, what’s that?”
“Ulick.”
“Oh”—colouring—“how could I do that? Oh, no, I really couldn’t—never.”
“Do you really mean—never?”—and his face was serious.
She hesitated for so long, his expectation became intense; at last it was positively painful. “Well”—drawing a quick breath—“any way—not yet.”
“And when?” he persisted.
She made no answer.
“In six months?”
“Ah, sure ye know I’m not fit,” she faltered, and her eyes were filled with tears. “Although I’m dressed up like this”—and she glanced at her dainty gown of white chiffon—“I’m only a common girl, and faix, no one knows that, better than yerself.”