“An’ now, ye don’t be after tellin’ me that ye know me fust cousin, Michael Butler, a sthreet car conductor in the city of Saint Loose, the name of the county has eschaped me moind?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t met him,” answered Elinor apologetically.
“An’ is it me second cousin, Edward, ye be after knowin’?”
“Edward Butler is my uncle,” answered Elinor steadily.
“Well, may the howly Saint Pathrick and all his sainted brith’rin stand witness to this,” cried Thomas in the throes of paralyzing astonishment. “An’ you his niece, beghorra! His saloon must have prospered surely to be sindin’ his niece to Oirland in such grand stoile.”
“My uncle isn’t in that business,” began Elinor, blinking back her tears. “He’s a lawyer, and has a factory besides for manufacturing automobile supplies.”
The other girls mercifully endeavored to engage Eileen and her mother in conversation until they saw Elinor stand up and heard her say:
“You haven’t two sons and another daughter? Oh, then there’s some mistake. My cousins have quite a family of children.”
The man gave her a bland and innocent stare. It was impossible to ruffle his equable disposition.
“’Tis a mistake, surely, then, Miss, and you are not me cousin at all, at all, but the kin of the owld Squire who lives five miles the other side of the village. I’m sorry, but the matin’ was a plisint break in the day’s wor-rk, an’ I’m not begrudgin’ you of the toime I spent; an’ missin’ the sicond thrain with the most passengers. But I’m thinkin’ ye’ll have to git somebody else to drive ye to the owld Squire’s. It’s only last St. Michaelmas he called me a lazy blackguard, and me a hard wur-rkin’ man, beghorra!”