"I will, sir," said he steadily, "and I'll be proud to be her husband."
In a very frenzy of enthusiasm, Mrs. O'Reilly arose—
"Good boy," said she. "Tell your Aunt Jane I'll send her another pot of jam." She turned to her husband, "Isn't it delightful, O'Reilly, doesn't it make you think of the song, 'True, True Till Death'?"
Mr. O'Reilly replied grimly—
"It does not, ma'm.—I'm going back to my work."
"Be a gentleman, O'Reilly," said his wife pleadingly. "Won't you offer
Mr. O'Grady a bottle of stout or a drop of spirits?"
The youth intervened hastily, for it is well to hide one's vices from one's family—
"Oh no, ma'm, not at all," said he, "I never drink intoxicating liquors."
"Splendid," said the beaming lady. "You're better without it. If you knew the happy homes it has ruined, and the things the clergy say about it you'd be astonished. I only take it myself for the rheumatism, but I never did like it, did I, O'Reilly?"
"Never, ma'm," was his reply. "I only take it myself because my hearing is bad. Now, listen to me, young man. You want to marry Julia Elizabeth, and I'll be glad to see her married to a sensible, sober, industrious husband.—When I spoke about her a minute ago I was only joking."