"God bless us!" ejaculated Mike, his cheeks growing pale beneath their tan. "What did ye say, alanna?"
"I said I wouldn't," answered Roseen.
"That's me brave girl! I declare ye're afther givin' me such a fright, I don't know whether I am on me head or on me heels. Was he goin' to murther ye for that?"
"He was at first," replied the girl, "and then he began sayin'—Oh dear, oh dear, me heart's broke!" She was sobbing now violently.
"Sure, what matther what he says?" cried Mike, much concerned. "Ye have no call to be frettin' that way; let him say what he likes, bad luck to him! Sure, ye won't be havin' Mr. Quinn, Roseen, will ye?"
"N—no," said Roseen. "Me grandfather says I'm bringin' his white hairs with sorrow to the grave."
"Ah, the ould gomeril!" retorted Mike unsympathetically. "Bedad, what hairs he has isn't white at all, but red as carrots! Don't ye be listenin', Roseen, asthore. Sure, ye wouldn't marry ugly Mr. Quinn?" he repeated anxiously.
"I would not," replied Roseen; "but I don't like me grandfather to be talkin' that way. An'—an' his hair isn't that red, Mike," she added reprovingly; "ye have no call to be sayin' it is."
"If I never said worse nor you have said yourself often an' often!" retorted the lad. "Many's the time I heard ye at it."
"That was before I had sense," replied Roseen, a trifle loftily; "ye have no call to be castin' that up at me now. Me an' me grandfather has never fell out since I come here."