“I'll give you my oath,” said Phelim; “an' be the blessed iron tongs in the grate there, I'll not lose a day in gettin' myself spliced. Isn't she the tendher-hearted sowl, your Reverence? Augh, Mrs. Doran!”
“Leave my place,” said the priest. “I cannot forget the old proverb, that one fool makes many, but an old fool is worse than any. So it is with this old woman.”
“Ould woman! Oh, thin, I'm sure I don't desarve this from your Reverence!” exclaimed the housekeeper, wiping her eyes: “if I'm a little seasoned now, you know I wasn't always so. If ever there was a faithful sarvant, I was that, an' managed your house and place as honestly as I'll manage my own, plase Goodness.”
As they left the parlor, Phelim became the consoler.
“Whisht, you darlin'!” he exclaimed. “Sure you'll have Bouncin' Phelim to comfort you. But now that he has shut the door, what—hem—I'd take it as a piece o' civility if you'd open my eyes a little; I mane—hem—was it—is this doin' him, or how? Are you—hem—do you undherstand me, Mrs. Doran?”
“What is it you want to know, Phelim? I think everything is very plain.”
“Oh, the divil a plainer, I suppose. But in the mane time, might one axe, out o' mere curiosity, if you're in airnest?”
“In airnest! Arrah, what did I give you my money for, Phelim? Well, now that everything is settled, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to me.”
“A bad what?”
“I say, God forgive you if you make a bad husband to me. I'm afeard, Phelim, that I'll be too foolish about you—that I'll be too fond of you.”