Milbanke laughed a little awkwardly.
"So long as you make no objection," he said with amiable haste, "I see nothing to find fault with."
But Hannah gave an incredulous shake of her head.
"Ah! you do be sayin' that," she replied sagely. "But 'tis a quare place you'll be findin' Orristown after England." She added this in a persuasive tone, making a tentative cast for the stranger's sentiments.
But before the fish could rise to her bait, her attention was claimed in another direction. A pellet of mud, aimed with extreme accuracy, came flying through the open window and hit her on the cheek.
Milbanke glanced round quickly; Clodagh laughed; and the victim of the assault gave a gasp, pushed her saucepans aside, and thrust her head through the window.
"Wait till I catch you, Masther Larry!" she cried across the yard. "How can I be doin' the work of six women and three men with the likes of you trapesin' about? 'Pon my word, I'll tell on you—I'll tell your uncle on you. Long threatenin' comes at last!"
But the only response that greeted her was a smothered laugh from the stables opposite—a laugh which Clodagh involuntarily echoed.
Instantly Hannah wheeled round from the window.
"Ah! Miss Clodagh, isn't it a shame for you?" she exclaimed tremulously. "Isn't it a shame for you now to be encouragin' that brat of a boy? Sure, 'tis the third time he thrun his marbles of mud at me this mornin'. So signs, I'll spake to the masther. I will so."