"But the family, Terence; remember the old stock. Is she one of us?"—"She is highly respectable. An only daughter, with excellent expectations."
"What is her father, Terence?"—"A soldier, ma'am."
"Lord!—quite enough. He's by profession a gentleman; and we can't expect to find every day, descendants from the kings of Connaught, like the O'Shaughnessys and the O'Finns. But when is it to take place, Terence?"—"Why, faith, ma'am, it was a bit of a secret; but I can keep nothing from you."
"And why should ye? Haven't I been to you more than a mother, Terence?"
"I am to be married this evening."
"This evening! Holy Saint Patrick! and you're sure of the money? It's not a rent-charge—nothing of bills or bonds?"
"Nothing but bank-notes; nothing but the aragudh-sheese."[3]
"Ogh! my blessing be about ye night and day. Arrah, Terence, what's her name?"
"You'll not mention it. We want the thing done quietly."
"Augh, Terence; and do you think I would let any thing ye told me slip? By this cross,"—and Mrs. O'Finn bisected the forefinger of her left hand with the corresponding digit of the right one; "the face of clay shall never be the wiser of any thing ye mention!"