“How are Pat and Mary?”
“I don’t know them, my dear.”
“Oh Uncle Paul, wisha now, of course ye know thim; they have the charge of the poultry-yard. Why, Pat, he’s—he’s me favourite of the whole place, although I love Mary nearly as well.”
“I think you must be talking now of the Johns,” said Mr. Wyndham with a laugh. “They’re quite well, Peggy; but their names are neither Patrick nor Mary. Mrs. Johns’ true name is Ann and Johns’ true name is William.”
“That’s not what I call thim,” said Peggy.
“You haven’t inquired for Mrs. Wyndham,” said her “uncle,” after a pause.
“No, belike, and I don’t want to.”
“Why not, dear? That sounds rather—rather rude.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Paul; ye see, I don’t love her.”
“You don’t love her?”