SCENE III.
Mrs. CARVER’S Dressing-room.
Mrs. CARVER sitting at work.—BLOOMSBURY standing.
Bloom. Certainly, ma’am, what I always said was, that for the commonalty, there’s no getting out of an Irish cabin a girl fit to be about a lady such as you, Mrs. Carver, in the shape of a waiting-maid or waiting-maid’s assistant, on account they smell so of smoke, which is very distressing; but this Honor McBride seems a bettermost sort of girl, ma’am; if you can make up your mind to her vice.
Mrs. Carv. Vice?
Bloom. That is, vicious pronounciations in regard to their Irish brogues.
Mrs. Carv. Is that all?—I am quite accustomed to the accent.
Bloom. Then, ma’am, I declare now, I’ve been forced to stuff my hears with cotton wool hever since I comed to Ireland. But this here Honor McBride has a mighty pretty vice, if you don’t take exceptions to a little nationality; nor she if not so smoke-dried: she’s really a nice, tidy-looking like girl considering. I’ve taken tea with the family often, and they live quite snug for Hirish. I’ll assure you, ma’am, quite bettermost people for Hibernians, as you always said, ma’am.
Mrs. Carv. I have a regard for old Matthew, though he is something of a miser, I fear.