Mrs. McNally gasped.

“Isn’t it the great fool you are, Pat Rooney, to go give up your good place for a stupid notion like this?  Ye know Miss Elleney ’ud never demean herself to you.”

“Ay, ma’am, I know she looks on me as the dirt under her feet.”

“Then stop where ye are,” said Mrs. McNally, comfortably.  “You’re a very good boy when you don’t let your wits go wool-gatherin’.  As for my niece, she’s no notion of encouragin’ any nonsense—­have ye, Elleney?”

Elleney’s long lashes were downcast, and she nervously twisted her apron.

“Sure ye haven’t, dear?” said her aunt persuasively.  “Tell the poor foolish fellow that ye haven’t, an’ then he’ll be puttin’ it altogether out of his head.”

Elleney raised her eyes and looked at Pat, and then dropped them again.

“He’s the only one in the wide world that cares for me,” she said, with a quivering lip.

“Bless us and save us!” gasped Mrs. McNally.  “If that’s the way it is, Pat, ye’d best be off with yourself.”

Pat turned as red as a cherry, and then as white as his own flour.

“Miss Elleney, dear,” he whispered, “d’ye know what ye’re sayin’?  D’ye know I’m such a great big fool that I’m beginning to think the most outrageous nonsense.  I’ll be beginnin’ to think soon, me jewel, that ye might some day be gettin’ a bit fond o’ me, an’ maybe say Yes when I ax ye a question.  Sure ye didn’t think of that, alanna?”

“Will ye whisht, ye impident fellow?” cried Mrs. McNally angrily.  “Of course she thought o’ no such thing.”

Elleney turned her sweet eyes deprecatingly towards her aunt, and murmured very faintly—­

“I don’t know—­I—­I think I did.”

* * * * *

Half-an-hour afterwards Mrs. McNally entered the parlour with a dubious, almost timid, expression on her good-natured face.  Most of her family was gathered round the hearth, talking in muffled tones, and with gloomy countenances.  Behind the window-curtain Brian Brennan and Anna Maria were tittering together.  Mrs. McNally jerked her thumb inquiringly over her shoulder, and raised her eyebrows.

“Is that the way it is?” she whispered.

“You’d better ask them,” returned Juliana, with her nose in the air.

Bridget sniffed audibly.

“She reg’larly thrun herself at his head,” said Mary spitefully.

“Did I indeed?” said Nanny, emerging from behind the window-curtain.  “Brian here could tell yous a different story.  He’s been beggin’ an’ prayin’ this half-hour, an’ I haven’t give him an answer yet.”

“Ah, but you will!” said Brian, with an ingratiating smile.

“If I do then it ‘ull be for the sake of servin’ you out.  Ye never heard the like of the life I’ll be leadin’ ye.  Ye’ll only be sorry once, an’ that’ll be for ever.”

“I’ll risk that,” said Brian gallantly.

“Well, well, well,” said Mrs. McNally, clapping her hands; “so it’s to be you, Nanny!  ‘Pon me word it rains weddin’s this evenin’.  I don’t know whether I’m on me head or me heels.  There’s Elleney, now—­nothin’ll serve her but to go takin’ up with Pat Rooney.”