"Molly!" cried the man at the gate.
"Don't answer," P. Sybarite advised: "if you don't, he'll lose patience and come to fetch you. And then—"
"But I'm afraid he may—"
"Molly!"
"Don't you fear for me: God's good to the Irish."
"MOLLY!"
"Do be quiet," suggested P. Sybarite, not altogether civilly.
The other started as if slapped.
"What's that?" he barked in a rage.
"I said, hold your tongue."