Mrs. O'Reilly wheeled slowly to face him—
"Did you now?" said she, "and is it about Julia Elizabeth you came over? Well, well, well, just to think of it! But I guessed it long ago, when you bought the yellow boots. She's a real good girl, Mr. O'Grady. There's many and many's the young man, and they in good positions, mind you—but maybe you don't mean that at all. Is it a message from your Aunt Jane or your mother? Your Aunt Jane does send messages, God help her!"
"It's not, Mrs. O'Reilly: it's, if I may presume to say so, about myself."
"I knew it," was the rapid and enthusiastic reply. "She's a fine cook, Mr. O'Grady, and a head of hair that reaches down to her waist, and won prizes at school for composition. I'll call himself—he'll be delighted. He's in the next room making faces at a map. Maps are a terrible occupation, Mr. O'Grady, they spoil his eyesight and make him curse——"
She ambled to the door and called urgently—
"O'Reilly, here's young Mr. O'Grady wants to see you."
Her husband entered with a pen in his mouth and looked very severely at his visitor—
"What brought you round, young man?" said he.
The youth became very nervous. He stood up stammering—
"It's a delicate subject, sir," said he, "and I thought it would only be right to come to you first."