“It’s forgittin’ ye are that she has been gettin’ oulder, as well as yersilf. She is almost a young lady now, me b’y.”
“But not old enough to think seriously of love.”
“Is it that oidea ye have, Frankie? An’ do yez fergit how Rolf Raymond, her cousin in New Orleans, troied to make her marry him?”
“That was an outrage, for she was a mere child.”
“Ye’ll see a change in her whin ye mate her. An’ it’s her fayther thot’s lookin’ out for a foine match fer her.”
“Impossible! I am sure Mr. Burrage would not——”
“Sure is it ye are! Ha! ha! Whoy, it’s thot th’ old gintlemon wur thravelin’ fer more than fer th’ hilth av him.”
“Barney, I can’t believe this.”
“Belave it ur not, it’s the truth, an’ he wur afther makin’ her marry Lord Stanford.”
“What an outrage—what an outrage!” shouted Frank, springing to his feet and excitedly pacing the floor. “Don’t tell me he succeeded in forcing her into such a marriage!”