“Yes, let us have it by all means.”
“Can you tell me,” and she paused, and looked at him steadily, “why some have every mortal blessed thing, and others—have nothing at all?”
“But how do you mean?” he asked, rather taken aback. This description of puzzle was far from what he had anticipated.
“Why look at Miss Cunninghams, and look at me!”
“Yes”; and he looked at her.
“They are ladies born, and live in a park, and wear beautiful dresses, and ride fine hunters, and eat with silver forks; they go away and see the world, with plenty of money in their pockets. And for me, I live in a little weenchie cottage, and work hard, and I will never lay an eye on any sight better than Crock na Bowl, or do anything but cook, and milk, as long as the breath is in me! And I’d just love to see life. Why were they born one way, and me another?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he replied.
“Well, ye see, I’ve asked ye my riddle, and ye cannot answer it,” she said with a smile, “so now I’ll be going”; and without another word, Mary Foley clambered lightly over the stone gap (she still wore black stockings, and had remarkably neat ankles), and presently disappeared.