Here the lady broke in rapturously—
"Isn't it splendid, O'Reilly! You and me sitting here growing old and contented, and this young gentleman talking to us the way he is. Doesn't it make you think of the song 'John Anderson, my Jo, John'?"
Her husband turned a bewildered but savage eye on his spouse—
"It does not, ma'm," said he. "Well," he barked at Mr. O'Grady, "what do you want?"
"I want to speak about your daughter, sir."
"She's not a delicate subject."
"No indeed," said his wife. "Never a day's illness in her life except the measles, and they're wholesome when you're young, and an appetite worth cooking for, two eggs every morning and more if she got it."
Her husband turned on her with hands of frenzy—
"Oh——!" said he, and then to their visitor, "What have you to say about my daughter?"
"The fact is, sir," he stammered, "I'm in love with her."