“I wish to God my soul was as white as yours, Mary!”
“O Lord, sir!” she ejaculated, aghast, “you must not say the like of these things to me, and—and——” Colouring up, and taking a firm hold of her resolution, she curtseyed herself off.
One afternoon, some weeks later, Ulick Doran overtook the pretty egg-girl on her way from market. Her mother was beginning to feel the distance long, unless she could get a lift, and Mary was alone.
The young man dismounted from his weary horse, and walked beside her with the bridle over his arm for three whole happy miles. The afternoon was clear; there was a slim young moon. A red coat is somewhat conspicuous, and the couple were passed by one or two of the neighbours, and descried from a distance by Father Daly himself! All the same, their conversation was absolutely harmless—it was even stupid (but they could subsequently recall each precious syllable); and yet, with every step they took, they fell deeper and deeper into love (but with a frightened consciousness, like—as R. L. Stevenson says—a pair of children venturing together into a dark room). Sixteen and twenty-three—how could they help it?
They were both sensible of an indescribable something that drew them irresistibly towards one another. He appealed to her, because he was just Mr. Ulick—and a gentleman. She to him by her strange magnetic personality; she was totally different to any girl he had ever seen—coarsely clad yet dainty, bold yet shy; as for her face, it recalled the exquisite miniature of some piquante beauty at the court of Louis XIV., and Ulick Doran was poignantly aware of her soft low voice, her sweet eyes, her hair, and her upturned, questioning gaze.
But Mary was Mary, a peasant’s daughter, and, being a girl of the people, his lips were locked. Nevertheless, he adored her.
By-and-by, with the spring weather, a little “talk” began to circulate. It was whispered that Mr. Ulick had given Mary Foley his red pup, and that more than once he had been seen walking out with her! The news came to the ears of Father Daly, who had indeed beheld the couple with his own two eyes, and promptly descended upon Mrs. Foley and Mary, and gave them an impressive, never-to-be-forgotten lecture. The gossip also reached Mrs. Doran, who was furious. She made no remark to her son, but she went to Foley’s corner, and enacted a great scene with Katty, having discovered that unhappy woman alone. The lady strode into the cottage, and began without any preamble, such as “How are you?” or “A fine day!” “Katty Foley, only you have a lease here, do you know that I’d throw you into the road!” Long residence in Ireland had infected the matron’s vocabulary.
“Ah, for why, me lady?” rising stiffly as she spoke.
“Why? Because of your daughter’s brazen behaviour with my son, Mr. Ulick. It’s the scandal of the county.”
“Mary is a good girl,” responded Katty, in a tremulous voice. “God knows there’s no harm in her, whativer.”