“And may I ask what were you doing in there?”
“I just went in to light my pipe.”
“So that’s what he calls it, eh, mater?” broke in Barky, with a knowing chuckle. “Mary Foley is the prettiest girl in the whole side of the country, and the cockiest, most impudent little devil I ever came across. So that’s your taste, is it, my boy!”
Ulick flung his brother an indignant glance, and went on. “The woman was there sheltering, and asking her way.”
“What sort of a person is she?” inquired Mrs. Doran.
“It is not easy to describe her.”
“No; it’s easier to describe little Mary, with her red poll,” interrupted Barky facetiously.
“But,” resumed the narrator, “she is stout and elderly, talks with a strong American accent, and looks like a prosperous housekeeper.”
“I suppose she has a letter of introduction from your aunt?”