Biddy.—I’ll see what’s lift in the pantry. Be aisy till I come back. (Starts to go.)
Pat.—Biddy!
Biddy.—What, darlint? (Pauses.)
Pat.—Do ye hear anything?
Biddy.—Its the Niverslips! Run for your life!
Pat.—Be aisy; it’s me poor heart beatin’; and nothin’ more. It always bates whin I see that face.
Biddy (Looks over her shoulder).—What face? I see no face!
Pat.—Don’t be a greenhorn. I mane your own lovely countenance.
Biddy.—Oh, ye blarney! [Exit R. E.]
Pat. (Rises from chair and walks up and down the stage).—Humph! this is a very foine house. It lacks the comforts of a home, howiver, for there’s not the sign of a pipe or a ’bacca bowl about the room. They’re evidently mane people.