"'What's the matther?' sez Tim, as red as a b'iled lobsther. 'Isn't it all right?'
"'How will I know?' sez the squireen.
"'Och! och!' sez Tim, 'why did I make a "behay" of myself? Blessin's on yer darlin' face!' sez he, turnin' to Miss Norah; 'an' may goodness purtect ye! an' the daisies grow up under yer purty feet! an' may all the fairies in Ireland bring good luck to ye, an' a dale of it! But oh, be pl'ased to take pity on a poor boy as is quite dumbfounder'd at yer b'utyful countenance, and burnt into ashes by the blaze from yer eyes! An' now don't be afther colloguing wid the ould man that a way, an' I kep' in the dark, like Shaun Dooley, the blind fiddler.'
"'Indade, an' in throth, 'tis very mystharious,' sez Miss Norah, whisperin' to the fadher. ''Tisn't the first ha'porth of manners the crayther has. Sure I am I'll not like him, any way.'
"'L'ave him to me,' sez the ould man. 'May be he's betther nor he seems. Get ye gone, acushla, an' ordher Michael to bring up a pitcher of st'amin' hot potheen; that's the raal stuff to bring out a man's charackther. Misther Sullivan,' sez he, as the daughther disapp'ared—'Misther Sullivan'——
"'Delaney, av ye pl'ase,' sez Tim.
"'I beg yer pardin, Misther Delaney Sullivan. May I be so bould, an' m'anin' no offince, as to be axin' ye what makes ye carry all thim goold chains, an' the han'some goold watch, an' the dimont pin, in sich a sthrange way?'
"'Oh,' sez Tim, mightily relaved, an' pokin' the ould man for fun undher the fifth rib, ''tis there ye are! Sure, 'tis raisonable,' sez he, 'a young jintleman should folly the fashi'ns.'
"'Oh,' sez the squireen, 'an' thim's the fashi'ns, is they?'
"'What 'u'd they be good for, if they worn't?' sez Tim.