‘Broke his arm?’
‘Just that, sir, bad scran to him! An’ the docther says he never saw a worse compound fraction in his life. ’Twas all through Timsey Mooney. Timsey and him’s at war for a long time, an’ yestherday Timsey said he’d break his head, an’ with that Denis said he’d have the life ov him; and ’twas the divil’s own row they had afther that, only’—with a regretful air—‘it was Denis’s arm that got bruk, an’ not Timsey’s head.’
‘So Denis got his arm broken?’
‘Yes, sir. An’ that Timsey Mooney as sound as iver! Not a scratch on him. I’ve alwas tould ye that there’s nayther luck nor grace wid Denis. But what am I wastin’ words on him at all for? ’Tis about the young lady I’m curious. She’s to stay, sir?’
‘Yes—yes. I told you that before. And I have arranged with a friend of mine, a very accomplished lady, to come down here and live with her as a companion.’
‘A companion is it?’ Mrs. Moriarty strokes her beard. ‘She’s been very continted wid me,’ says she.
‘I dare say. But this lady, Miss Manning, is to be a governess to her, to teach her—to see to her manners, and—’
‘To tache her her manners is it? She’s got the purtiest manners I ever yet see,’ says Mrs. Moriarty, with a smothered indignation. ‘Tache her, indeed!’
It is plain that Mrs. Moriarty is already consumed with the pangs of jealousy.
‘She is coming, at all events,’ says Wyndham shortly. ‘And I request you will treat her with every respect, as one of my oldest friends.’