"Proud, squire, proud," retorted the old lady, cracking the top off another egg as she spoke.
"Please, father, I'd rather the letter wasn't read aloud. I don't think it is all praise," whispered Biddy in his ear.
The Squire's hawk-like face took a troubled glance for a quarter of a minute. He looked into Biddy's eyes and took his cue.
No one else had heard her low, passionate whisper.
"After all," he said, "the colleen has a fair share of womanly modesty, and I for one respect her for it. She can handle a gun with any man among us, but she can't hear herself praised to her face. All right, colleen, you shan't be. We'll keep over the letter for the present, if you please, Kathleen."
"That's as you please, Dennis. For my part, I expect it's just the school bills, and there is no hurry about them. I want to go and speak to Molly Fitzgerald about preserving the late raspberries, so I shan't read the letter at all at present."
She slipped it into her pocket, and, rising from the table, set the example to the others to follow her.
The three girls went out on the terrace. Janet walked by Bridget's side, and Sophy ran on in front.
"I can't believe," said Bridget, looking at Sophy, "that your sister is older than you. She has quite the ways and manners of a very young girl, whereas you——"