“Why, then,” observed another, “who 'ud think that poor die-away Vread had so much spunk in her? Vread,” he proceeded, “you must a been a great beauty wanst upon a time; a very purty face you had, they say.”
“Whatever it was,” she replied, “I thank God I was never ashamed to show it like too many of my neighbors.”
“Don't be too sure that we're your neighbors, Vread.”
“Troth, I hope not,” she returned; “I don't think my neighbors 'ud be consarned in sich disgraceful work, as I'm afraid brings yez out. Faugh upon you all! its unmanly.”
Her husband, accompanied by six or eight more, now made his appearance; a circumstance which at once put an end to the part that his wife was disposed to bear in their conversation.
Other chat of various character then took place, in which, however, M'Carthy, who now watched them closely, could observe that they did not all join.
“Whisht,” said one of them, “is there anybody asleep in the house? I think I hear some one snorin!”
“There is,” said Finnerty, “a gentleman that was out shootin' to-day wid a servant-man of Mr. Parcel's the procthor—named Mogue Moylan.”
“And a very great scoundrel is Mogue Moylan,” said one of them, with a wink at the rest.
“Well, no,” said Finnerty, “I think not—poor Mogue's a daecnt, quiet crature, and has a great regard for truth and religion.”