"Oh, the ladies, ye mane. They're young, mortal young—they are babes of innocence. They don't know the world and they don't want to. Malachi breaks in horses for 'em, and they ride and ride and ride, and that's about all they can do. Fergus, the wan who is to take the title after his father, is more severe like, but he's a handsome lad for all that, and so is Bruce for that matter."
"And do they all live at Desmondstown?" inquired Margot.
"To be sure, and where else would they live!"
"But they can't be so young if my mother was their sister," said Margot.
Phinias bent towards the little girl.
"Whist, missie, whist, mavourneen" he said. "We never talks of birthdays in the ould country. Age! We don't know what age is. If we ever knew it we forgets it. We are all young—young as new-born chicks. Now then, missie, you'd best go and lie down, for it may be gettin' a bit rough by-the-bye, and we're due at Rosslare early in the morning."
Margot sat very still for a few minutes.
"Phinias," she said, then, "I have a little money, a very little money by me. Can I have a bite and a sup to eat and drink?"
"To be sure ye can; for sartin ye can. What 'ud ye fancy now? A drop of whisky I'd say, or a bottle of Guinness' stout."
"Oh, no, please; may I have a cup of tea and a little bread and butter?"