SARAH
scornfully.—If you are, it’s a clumsy man you are this night, Michael Byrne (raising her voice); and let you make haste now, or herself will be coming with the porter.
MICHAEL
defiantly, raising his voice.—Let me make haste? I’ll be making haste maybe to hit you a great clout; for I’m thinking on the day I got you above at Rathvanna, and the way you began crying out and saying, “I’ll go back to my ma,” and I’m thinking on the way I came behind you that time, and hit you a great clout in the lug, and how quiet and easy it was you came along with me from that hour to this present day.
SARAH
standing up and throwing all her sticks into the fire.—And a big fool I was too, maybe; but we’ll be seeing Jaunting Jim to-morrow in Ballinaclash, and he after getting a great price for his white foal in the horse-fair of Wicklow, the way it’ll be a great sight to see him squandering his share of gold, and he with a grand eye for a fine horse, and a grand eye for a woman.
MICHAEL
working again with impatience.—The divil do him good with the two of them.
SARAH
kicking up the ashes with her foot.—Ah, he’s a great lad, I’m telling you, and it’s proud and happy I’ll be to see him, and he the first one called me the Beauty of Ballinacree, a fine name for a woman.
MICHAEL
with contempt.—It’s the like of that name they do be putting on the horses they have below racing in Arklow. It’s easy pleased you are, Sarah Casey, easy pleased with a big word, or the liar speaks it.
SARAH
Liar!
MICHAEL
Liar, surely.
SARAH
indignantly.—Liar, is it? Didn’t you ever hear tell of the peelers followed me ten miles along the Glen Malure, and they talking love to me in the dark night, or of the children you’ll meet coming from school and they saying one to the other, “It’s this day we seen Sarah Casey, the Beauty of Ballinacree, a great sight surely.”
MICHAEL
God help the lot of them!