Mrs. O'Brien gathered her in as if were the most natural thing in the world. "What is it, Rosie darlint? What's troublin' you?"
"Ma," she sobbed, "you're well, aren't you?"
"Me, Rosie dear, am I well, do you say?" Mrs. O'Brien looked into Rosie's tearful eyes in astonishment.
"Yes, Ma, you! I want you to be well—always—all the time! You see, Ma, Janet's poor mother——"
"Ah, and is it that that's troublin' you?" Mrs. O'Brien crooned, rocking Rosie from side to side as though she were Geraldine. "Don't you be worryin' your little head about your poor ma. I'm fine and well, thank God, and your poor da is well, and Terry's well, and Jackie's well, and poor wee Geraldine is well, and dear Ellen's well, and we're all——"
"Ellen!" snorted Rosie, her tears abruptly ceasing to flow and her body drawing itself away from her mother's embrace.
"Dear Ellen's well, too," Mrs. O'Brien in all innocence repeated.
"Oh, I know she's well all right!" Rosie declared in tones which even her mother recognised as sarcastic.
"Why, Rosie," Mrs. O'Brien began, "I'm surprised——"
But Rosie, without waiting to hear the end of her mother's reproach, marched resolutely off with all the dignity of a high chin and a stiff military gait.