M'Mahon's way home lay by Gerald Cavanagh's house, near which as he approached he saw Nanny Peety in close conversation with Kate Hogan. The circumstance, knowing their relationship as he did, made no impression whatsoever upon him, nor would he have bestowed a thought upon it, had he been left to his own will in the matter. The women separated ere he had come within three hundred yards of them; Kate, who had evidently been convoying her niece a part of the way, having returned in the direction of Cavanagh's, leaving Nanny to pursue her journey home, by which she necessarily met M'Mahon.
“Well, Nanny,” said the latter, “how are you?”
“Faix, very well, I thank you, Bryan; how are all the family in Carriglass?”
“Barring my mother, they're all well, Nanny. I was glad to hear you got so good a place, an' I'm still betther plaised to see you look so well—for it's a proof that you feel comfortable in it.”
“Why I can't complain,” she replied; “but you know there's no one widout their throubles.”
“Troubles, Nanny,” said Bryan, with surprise; “why surely, Nanny, barrin' it's love, I don't see what trouble you can have.”
“Well, and may be it is,” said the girl, smiling.
“Oh, in that case,” replied Bryan, “I grant you're to be pitied; poor thing, you look so ill and pale upon it, too. An' what is it like, Nanny—this same love that's on you?”
“Faix,” she replied, archly, “it's well for you that Miss Kathleen's not to the fore or you daren't ax any one sich a question as that.”
“Well done, Nanny,” he returned; “do you think she knows what it's like?”