“She was not,” said Neal, unguardedly.
Peg Macllrea laughed with delight and clapped her hands.
“I knew rightly there was a lassie, and that she kissed you. Now you’ve tellt me yourself. But I willna split on you, nor I willna let on that you tellt on her. But I hope she’s bonny, though she does not come from the County Down.”
Neal grew angry. It did not seem fitting that this red-haired, freckled servant, with her bold tongue and red arms, should make game of Una St. Clair’s kisses. They were sacred things in his memory.
“Now you’re getting vexed,” she said. “You’re as cross as twa sticks. I can see it in your eyes. Well, I’ve more to do than to be coaxing you.”
She turned her back on him and began to sing—
“I would I were in Ballinderry,
I would I were in Aghalee,
I would I were on bonny Ram’s Island,
Sitting under an ivy tree.
Ochone! Ochone!”
“Peg,” said Neal, “Peg Macllrea, don’t you be cross with me.”
“I would I were in Ballinderry,”
she began again.