“Very well, Caterine,” replied Barney, “I'll tell him so.”
In a few minutes Harry joined her on the lawn, where she awaited him, and the following dialogue took place between them:
“Well, Caterine, Casey tells me that you have something particular to say to me.”
“And very particular indeed, it is, Mr. Harry.”
“Well, then, the sooner we have it the better; pray, what is it?”
“I'm afeard, Mr. Woodward, that unless you have some good body's blessin' about you, your life isn't worth a week's purchase.”
“Some good body's blessing!” he replied ironically; “well, never mind that, but let me know the danger, if danger there be; at all events, I am well prepared for it.”
“The danger then is this—and terrible it is—that born devil, Shawn-na-Middogue, has got hold of what's goin' on between you and Grace Davoren.”
“Between me and Grace Davoren!” he exclaimed, in a voice of well-feigned astonishment. “You mean my brother Charles. Why, Caterine, that soft-hearted and softheaded idiot, for I can call him nothing else, has made himself a perfect fool about her, and what is worst of all, I am afraid he will break his engagement with Miss Goodwin, and marry this wench. Me! why, except that he sent me once or twice to meet her, and apologize for his not being able to keep his appointment with her, I know nothing whatsoever of the unfortunate girl, unless that, like a fool, as she is, it seems to me that she is as fond of him as he, the fool, on the other hand, is of her. As for my part, I shall deliver his messages to her no more—and, indeed, it was wrong of me ever to do so.”
The moon had now risen, and Caterine, on looking keenly and incredulously into his face, read nothing there but an expression of apparent sincerity and sorrow for the indiscretion and folly of his brother.