“I 'm driving an old chestnut mare this minute that she trained,” said the priest; “and though she has n't a good leg amongst the four, and is touched in the wind, she 's as neat a stepper, and as easy in the mouth as a five-year-old.”
“She 's a fine young woman!” said old Hayes, drinking off his glass as though toasting her to himself, “and not like any Martin ever I seen before.”
“No pride about her!” said Brierley.
“I wouldn't exactly say that, Matthew,” interposed Father Neal. “But her pride isn't the common kind.”
“She's as proud as Lucifer!” broke in Nelligan, almost angrily. “Did you ever see her drive up to a shop-door in this town, and make the people come out to serve her, pointing with her whip to this, that, and t'other, and maybe giving a touch of the lash to the boy if he would n't be lively enough?”
“Well, I 'd never call her proud,” rejoined old Hayes, “after seeing her sitting in Catty Honan's cabin, and turning the bread on the griddle for her, when Catty was ill.”
“Is she handsome?” asked Massingbred, who was rather interested by the very discrepancy in the estimate of the young lady.
“We can agree upon that, I believe, sir,” said the priest; “there 's no disputing about her beauty.”
“I never saw her in a room,” said Magennis; “but my 'august leader' thought her masculine.”
“No, no,” said Nelligan; “she 's not. She has the Martin manner,—overbearing and tyrannical,—if you like; but she can be gentle enough with women and children.”