Farrell McGuinness was loitering by the door waiting to have a word with her when she had read her letter.
"I hear Mary Cooney over in Cruckenerega is home from Belfast again. Aye, and that she's shut herself up in a room and not one can see a sight of her. Isn't that quare now? Isn't it, Mrs. Brennan?"
"It's great, isn't it, Farrell? You may be sure there's something the matter with her."
"God bless us now, but wouldn't that be the hard blow to her father and mother and to her little sisters?"
"Arrah musha, between you and me and the wall, the divil a loss. What could she be, anyhow?"
"That's true for you, Mrs. Brennan!"
"Aye, and to think that it was in Belfast, of all places, that it happened. Now, d'ye know what I'm going to tell ye, Farrell? 'Tis the bad, Orange, immoral hole of a place is the same Belfast!"