Milbanke's harassed face grew more perplexed.
"No," he said hurriedly—"no; I understand that that arrangement is impossible. I was merely wondering whether there is any other—any more distant relative with whom she might be happy——"
He looked anxiously into her broad, shrewd face.
For a moment the small eyes met his seriously, then involuntarily they twinkled.
"Faith, when I was a young woman, sir," she said slowly, "men wasn't so sat on findin' relations for a girl like Miss Clodagh—unless maybe 'twas a relation of their own makin'!"
Milbanke suddenly looked away.
"What—what do you mean?" he asked confusedly.
"Why, that 'tisn't aunts and cousins that a girl like Miss Clodagh wants, but a good husband."
"A—a husband?"
"Why, thin, what else? Instid of throublin' yourself and frettin' yourself till your heart is scalded out of you, why don't you marry her? That's what I've been askin' meself ever since the poor masther died. It's out now, if I'm to be killed for it!"