“Norton,” said Dandy, whose heart was going at full speed, with a hope that he had at length got into the right track, “it's a purty name in troth. Arra, Nancy, do you know was your misthress ever in France?”
“Ay, was she,” replied Nancy. “Many a year maid to—let me see—what's this the name is? Ay! Cullamore. Maid to the wife of Lord Cullamore. So I was tould by Alley Mahon, a young woman that was here on a visit to me.”
Dandy put the glass of grog to his mouth, and having emptied it, sprung to his feet, commenced an Irish jig through the kitchen, in a spirit so outrageously whimsical—buoyant, mad, hugging the box all the time in his arms, that poor Nancy looked at him with a degree of alarm and then of jealousy which she could not conceal.
“In the name of all that's wonderful,” she exclaimed, “what's wrong—what's the matter? What's the value of that blackguard box that you make the mistake about in huggin' it that way? Upon my conscience, one would think you're in a desolate island. Remember, man alive, that you're among flesh and blood like your own, and that you have friends, although the acquaintance isn't very long, I grant, that wishes you betther than to see you makin' a sweetheart of a tallow-box. What the sorra is that worth?”
“A hundred pounds, my darlin'—a hundred pounds—bravo, Dandy—well done, brave Dulcimer—wealthy Nancy. Faith, you may swear upon the frying-pan there that I've the cash, and sure 'tis yourself I was lookin' out for.”
“I don't think, then, that ever I resembled a candle-box in my life,” she replied, rather annoyed that the article in question came in for such a prodigality of his hugs, kisses, and embraces, of all shapes and characters.
“Well, Nancy,” said he, “charming Nancy, you're my fancy, but in the meantime I have the honor and pleasure to bid you a good day.”
“Why, where are you goin'?” asked the woman. “Won't you wait for the rasher?”
“Keep it hot, charming Nancy, till I come back; I'm just goin' to take a constitutional walk.” So saying, Dandy, with the candle-box under his arm, darted out of the kitchen, and without waiting to know whether there was an answer to be brought back or not, mounted his jarvey, and desiring the man to drive as if the devil and all his imps were at their heels, set off at full speed for the city.
“Bad luck to you for a scamp,” exclaimed the indignant cook, shouting after him; “is that the way you trate a decent woman after gettin' your skinful of the best? Wait till you put your nose in this kitchen again, an' it'a different fare you'll get.”