“Well, Darby,” said the butler, “you weren't far wrong when you took my advice to stay here for the night; listen to how it 's blowing.”
“That 's hail!” said the old cook, as the big drops came pattering down the chimney, and hissed on the red embers as they fell. “It 's a cruel night, glory be to God!” Here the old lady blessed herself,—a ceremony which the others followed.
“For all that,” said Darby, “I ought to be up at Crocknavorrigha this blessed evening. Joe Neale was to be married to-day.”
“Joe! is it Joe?” said the butler.
“I wish her luck of him, whoever she is!” added the cook.
“Faix, and he's a smart boy!” chimed in the housemaid, with something not far from a blush as she spoke.
“He was a raal devil for coortin', anyhow!” said the butler.
“It's just for peace he's marrying now, then,” said Darby; “the women never gave him any quietness. Just so, Kitty; you need n't be looking cross that way,—it 's truth I'm telling you. They were always coming about him, and teasing him, and the like, and he could n't bear it any longer.”
“Arrah, howld your prate!” interrupted the old cook, whose indignation for the honor of the sex could not endure more. “He's the biggest liar from this to himself; and that same 's not a small word. Darby M'Keown.”
There was a pointedness in the latter part of this speech which might have led to angry consequences, had I not interposed by asking Mr. M'Keown himself if he ever was in love.