Moya. I’m afeard I’ll take afther Conn.
Mrs. O’K. Heaven forbid, and purtect you agin him. You are a good, dacent girl, an’ desarve the best of husbands.
Moya. Them’s the only ones that gets the worst. More betoken yourself, Mrs. O’Kelly.
Mrs. O’K. Conn nivir did an honest day’s work in his life—but dhrinkin’, an’ fishin’, an’ shootin’, and sportin’, and love-makin’.
Moya. Sure, that’s how the quality pass their lives.
Mrs. O’K. That’s it. A poor man that spoorts the sowl of a gentleman is called a blackguard.
Enter Conn.
Conn. There’s somebody talking about me.
Moya (running to him). Conn!
Conn. My darlin’, was the mother makin’ little of me? Don’t believe a word that comes out o’ her! She’s jealous—a devil a haporth less. She’s choking wid it this very minute, just bekase she sees my arms about ye. She’s as proud of me as an ould hen that’s got a duck for a chicken. Hould your whist now! Wipe your mouth, an’ give me a kiss!