“Gracious heaven!” he exclaimed, “what is this? what villanous calumny has gone abroad?”
Here Dandy saw clearly that his master was in distress, and generously resolved to step in to his assistance.
“Paudeen,” said he, “you know nothing about this business, my hurler. You're a day before the fair. They're not married yet—but it's as good—so hould your prate about it till the knot's tied—then trumpet it through the town if you like.”
The stranger felt that to enter into an altercation with two such persons would be perfect madness, and only make what now appeared to be already too bad, much worse. He therefore said, very calmly,
“Pat, I assure you, that my journey to Dublin had nothing whatsoever to do with Miss Gourlay's. The whole matter was accidental. I know nothing about her; and if any unfortunate reports have gone abroad they are unfounded, and do equal injustice to that lady and to me.”
“Divil a thing else, now, Paudeen,” said Dandy, with a face full of most villanous mystery—that had runaway and elopement in every line of it—and a tone of voice that would have shamed a couple-beggar—“bad scran to the ha'p'orth happened. So don't be puttin' bad constructions on things too soon. However, there's a good time comin', plaise God—so now, Paudeen, behave yourself, can't you, and don't be vexin' the masther.”
“Pat,” said the stranger, feeling that the best way to put an end to this most painful conversation was to start a fresh topic, “will you send for Fenton, and say I wish to see him?”
“Fenton, sir!—why, poor Mr. Fenton has been missed out of the town and neighborhood ever since the night you and Miss Gour—I beg pardon—”
“Upon my soul, Paudeen,” said Dandy, “I'll knock you down if you say that agin now, afther what the masther an' I said to you. Hang it, can't you have discretion, and keep your tongue widin your teeth, on this business at any rate?”
“Is not Fenton in town?” asked the stranger.