“Is there not? She is going the right way about losing her character, walking the roads with a gentleman.”
“She never did no such thing! Once I’ll allow he overtook her; on another time she overtook him—it was a pure accident.”
“An accident on purpose!” said Mrs. Doran venomously. “She waylaid him. And I suppose he has not lent her books; that’s not his dog lying there?”
“Sure, Mr. Ulick gave him to me, because the house is so lonesome, me lady,” she answered, with submissive deprecation. “No one in the house since I buried poor John, so Mr. Ulick, he says, ‘Would you like a dog, Katty?’ and there he is.”
“There he is, indeed! Love me, love my dog. You could have got one anywhere; pups are as common as kittens. He gave that terrier to Mary—a prize one, that cost him three guineas.”
As Mrs. Foley could not combat this statement, her visitor resumed: “I’ve just come to say one word, and it is my last. If you encourage my son here, and he ever darkens your door, you never enter my gates, and I will make it very unpleasant for you, Mrs. Foley. Look after your daughter, forbid her to speak to him, or you will be sorry yet. You don’t suppose that he would marry her, do you?”
“God knows I never thought of such a thing, my lady; I’d never wish my girl to be looked down on. I would not let him put a ring on her; I have my pride.”
“Your pride!” cried Mrs. Doran. “Well, that is a good joke. Your pride!” she repeated hysterically, as she swept out of the kitchen, like a tornado in black petticoats.
Not long after this raid, the lady of the castle came suddenly on the culprit herself. It was a fine March afternoon, and, wearing her best merino frock and her Sunday shoes, Mary was on her way to drink a cup of tea with her friend Bridget Curran, and show her the elegant fine-drawn work she was after doing for Mrs. Hogan. Suddenly, at a corner, she found herself face to face with the person she most dreaded in the whole world, who deliberately halted, stared hard, and then burst out, “Where did you get that gold locket and chain? But I need not ask; you have a bold face to be going about the country, wearing my son’s presents”; and before the girl was aware Mrs. Doran suddenly stretched out her hand, broke the chain with a violent snap, and flung it and the little locket, into the middle of the road.
“What are ye doing, ma’am?” cried the girl, roused to passion.