“Aye, aye! joke away, doctor.”
“Do you think, Father Phil,” said Murphy, “that that marriage was made in heaven, where we are told marriages are made?”
“I don't suppose it was, Mr. Murphy; for if it had it would have held upon earth.”
“Very well answered, Father,” said the Squire.
“I don't know what other people think about matches being made in heaven,” said Growling, “but I have my suspicions they are sometimes made in another place.”
“Oh, fie, doctor!” said Mrs. Egan.
“The doctor, ma'am, is an old bachelor,” said Father Phil, “or he wouldn't say so.”
“Thank you, Father Phil, for so polite a speech.”
The doctor took his pencil from his pocket and began to write on a small bit of paper, which the priest observing, asked him what he was about, “or is it writing a prescription you are,” said he, “for compounding better marriages than I can?”
“Something very naughty, I dare say, the doctor is doing,” said Fanny Dawson.