She rallied him. Was she the first girl he had ever loved? Was she? Ah, he was afraid to answer. As if she did not know! Of course, she was not the first, and dear knows she might not be the last....
"I'll never love any one but you, Sheila!..."
"Wheesht will you, or my aunt'll hear you!"
"I don't care who hears me!..."
"Well, I do then. Come on down the loanie a piece, an' you can say what you like. I love the way you talk ... you've got the quare nice English accent!"
He followed her across the farmyard and through the gate into the "loanie."
"My father wouldn't like to hear you saying that," he said.
"Why?" she asked. "Does he not like the English way of talkin'?"
"Indeed, he does not. He loves the way you talk, the way all the Ulster people talk!..."
"What! Broad an' coarse like me?" she interrupted.