"Now I hope you will feel less pain," she says, with modest triumph.
"I feel no pain," returns he, gallantly.
"Well said!" cries the old man from the chimney-corner, slapping his knee with delight; "well said, indeed! It reminds me of the ould days when we'd swear to any lie to please the lass we loved. Ay, very good, very good."
At this Mona and Geoffrey break into silent laughter, being overcome by the insinuation about lying.
"Come here an' sit down, lad," says old Scully, unknowing of their secret mirth, "an' tell me all about it, from start to finish,—that Ryan's a thundering rogue,—while Mona sees about a bed for ye."
"Oh, no," says Rodney, hastily. "I have given quite too much trouble already. I assure you I am quite well enough now to ride back again to Bantry."
"To Bantry," says Mona, growing white again,—"to-night! Oh, do you want to kill me and yourself?"
"She has reason," says the old man, earnestly and approvingly, rounding his sentence after the French fashion, as the Irish so often will: "she has said it," he goes on, "she always does say it; she has brains, has my colleen. Ye don't stir out of this house to-night, Mr. Rodney; so make up yer mind to it. With Tim Ryan abroad, an' probably picked up and carried home by this time, the counthry will be all abroad, an' no safe thravellin' for man or baste. Here's a cosey sate for ye by the fire: sit down, lad, an' take life aisy."
"If I was quite sure I shouldn't be dreadfully in the way," says Geoffrey, turning to Mona, she being mistress of the ceremonies.
"Be quite sure," returns she, smiling.