"Ye never done anything that was not kind, Miss Rorke," he said, standing up and removing his hat, "and I am truly grateful."
Roseen's face quivered. "Why are ye talkin' to me that way, Mike? I'm no more Miss Rorke to you now nor I have ever been. Sure, ye are not angry," she added piteously, "at me not goin' to meet ye on the car? I was afeard that every wan would be talkin' an' tormentin' us."
"Indeed, it wouldn't have become you at all," responded Mike, still standing, hat in hand, and speaking with a kind of aggressive humility, "and it 'ud be far from me to be expectin' such a thing."
Roseen knit her brows and tapped her foot impatiently, the angry tears now standing on her cheeks.
"What is it ye are driving at at all?" she cried; "I can't for the life of me make out what it is ye be up to. It 'ud have become me well enough to go meet ye, if it wasn't for the way people 'ud be goin' on."
"Indeed, of coorse, ye'll have to be mindin' yourself," agreed Mike, with cold politeness. "People's always ready enough to be gossipin' and gabbin' about any young lady."
"Young lady, fiddlesticks!" cried Roseen. "If ye go on that way I'll take ye by the two shoulders an' shake ye—it's all I can do now to keep me hands off o' ye! What in the name of goodness would ye be at? I'm not a young lady no more nor ye are, I am just Roseen, the same as ever I was. It's you that's turned nasty and contrairy."
"Not at all!" replied Mike, still frostily. "I'm only wishful to let ye understand that I know me place, miss, an' would never think of being presumptious."
Roseen suddenly collapsed on the stone slab and began to sob, making a good deal of noise over it and drying her eyes with the corner of her skirt, not being at that moment equipped with an apron.
"Ye're a nasty, bitther, disagree'ble ould fellow," she remarked inarticulately, "an' I hate ye."