“I’ve no wishes that way, yer honour, an’ if I was to try I couldn’t. What am I? A colleen, as poor as they’re made, an’ wishin’ to stay that same.”
“I want you to come to my house, to live with my girls.”
“Oh Lord ’a’ mercy! Be they grand like yerself, yer honour?”
“They are not grand at all, they are just nice girls.”
“Oh my! oh my! Arrah thin, yer honour, I’ll niver take to them, so don’t ye be thinkin’ it.”
Poor Wyndham sighed. Suddenly it occurred to him that he would go to visit a friend of his in Dublin, a certain Miss Wakefield, who was a very kind-hearted woman, and who could advise him with regard to Peggy. Of course this poor little wild creature could be tamed in time; but before she appeared at Preston Manor she must at least be dressed according to her new station.
“Peggy,” said Wyndham, after a long pause, “we are going to stay in Dublin to-night.”
“Yes, yer honour.”
“We are going to a hotel.”
“Is it a public-house, yer honour?”