Mary laughed very heartily. “I think, Peggy, you are a very clever girl,” she said.
“Me! Is it me clever? May Heaven forgive ye! Why, ever since I set me fut in this bitter cowld country it’s nothing but a fool I do be makin’ o’ meself, an’ it’s on that account I ventured into yer ladyship’s presence, for how I’m to spake at all, at all, beats me.”
“Whatever do you mean, Peggy dear?”
“Oh ‘Peggy dear’! ’Tisn’t that ye’ll be callin’ me for long; why, it’s hatin’ me ye’ll be, like the rest of thim. Now listen. I can’t come round yer tongue, at all, at all, and that’s the truth, an’ the words that I mustn’t say—oh my, but I’m blethered!—I’m not to say ‘arrah,’ nor ‘musha,’ nor ‘wurra,’ nor ‘yer mightiness,’ nor ‘yer honour,’ nor ‘yer ladyship,’ which, be the same token, I thought for sure would plase herself, and she as proud as Lucifer; but there, Lord save us! I must be dumb, for I don’t know no other way to express me feelings, an’ that’s the bare truth!”
“Poor little Peggy! Sit down and let me talk to you; we have a few minutes before lunch. I can understand so well what you feel, for you see I am Irish myself. I think I can help you fine; but, first, before all things, we must be friends.”
“Does ye mane it, Miss Mary Molly Polly? Oh for the Lord’s beautiful sake, does ye mane it?”
“Most certainly I do.”
“Thin let me give ye a hug. There, now, thin; that’s consoling; I’m better now, I am, truly. Me heart’s not so sore. Ye’ll tell me how to spake yer tongue, for ’tain’t mine. How does the quality spake in Ireland, Miss Mary Molly Polly? That’s what I’m wantin’ to get at.”
“Peggy, I’m afraid you will have a hard time before you. The ‘quality,’ as you call them, in Ireland, speak exactly as the quality speak in England. Now listen, darling. All well-educated people speak somewhat alike, whatever country they stay in.”
“Oh, thin, wherever’s the use o’ bothering about languages, when iverybody spakes the same?”