Mrs. C. Faith, an’ I don’t know, thin.
Mr. C. Div ye think ye like me as well as ye did him? [Persuasively, leaning forward to look into the widow’s eyes, which are cast down.]
Mrs. C. Ah, go away now for a taze. [Straightening herself and playfully slapping Mr. Costello on the face. He moves his chair still nearer, and puts his arm around her waist.]
Mr. C. Tell me, div ye like me as well as ye did him?
Mrs. C. I—I most—I most disremember now how much I liked him. [Embarrassed.]
Mr. C. Ah, now, don’t be breakin’ me heart. Answer me this question, Mrs. Cummiskey—Is your heart tender toward me?
Mrs. C. It is [whispers], an’ there, now ye have it.
Mr. C. Glory! [Kisses her.]
Mrs. C. But, James, ye haven’t told me yet how ye liked yer tay?
Mr. C. Ah, Nora, me jewel, the taste of that first kiss would take away the taste of all the tay that ever was brewed.