"Jealous, indeed! I must love you first, Mr. Impidence."
"So you do."
"I ain't such a fool, sir."
"Yes, you are, ma'am; an' what's more nor that, you can't help it, ma'am."
"Can't I?"
"Not a bit of it. You've caught the sickness, an' it's the goolden ring that'll cure you, an' nothin' besides."
"It isn't you that'll be docthor, anyway."
"The divil a one else."
"High hangin' to all liars."
"I'd say that, too, only I wouldn't like to lose you, Norah, afther all. Come now, darlin'," he went on, varying his tactics, "don't let us quarrel on this blessed day; let us make it up acush; take a howld of my arm, this right arm, that would work itself up to the elbow to do you any sarvice, or smash into small pitatys the blaggard that offered you the ghost of an offince."