The girls crowded eagerly round her, and she repeated with unction the description of the various glories which awaited the future Mrs. Brian Brennan.

Every one had forgotten Elleney and her little bit of dinner; every one, that is, except the new-comer, who, after casting a nervous glance at the parlour window on finding himself outside the house, had made straightway for the almost deserted shop.

Customers were not many at that hour of the day, and Elleney had only sold a pound of bacon and a couple of bootlaces since her aunt’s departure.  She was sorting ribbons with a somewhat melancholy face when Brian passed through the glass door and made his way to the counter.

“Is that where ye have yourself hidden?” he inquired gaily.  “They thought to keep ye shut up out o’ me sight, but I was a match for them as cute as they were.  ’Twas a shame for them not to let you come in to dinner.”

“Sure somebody had to mind the shop,” returned Elleney.  Then her little pink and white face dimpled all over with smiles.  “Have ye chose yet, Mr. Brian?” said she.

“Bedad, I think I have,” quoth Brian, gazing at her admiringly.

Elleney clapped her hands.  “Oh dear, is it Juliana?”

“It’s not Juliana, then,” said he.  “Is that the big one with the top-knot?  Sure, what sort of taste d’ye think I have?”

“It wouldn’t be Bridget!” cried she, laughing till every little white tooth was visible.

“That’s a bad shot—­I’m afeard ye’re no hand at guessin’.”

“I wished it was Nanny,” said Elleney earnestly; “she’s the best-hearted girl in the world.”

“You wished it was her, do ye?  Well, I’m sorry I can’t gratify ye.  My choice was made before I ever set eyes on e’er a one of them.”

“Then ye’d no call to come here at all,” interrupted Elleney indignantly.

“Whisht!  Don’t be bitin’ the nose off me that way.  Ye little schemer, ye know very well it’s yerself that carries all before ye.  Sure, who’d have eyes for any one else when you were to the fore?”

“Och, Mr. Brian, it’s a shame for ye!” cried Elleney, with flashing eyes.  “Ye’ve no right to come givin’ me impidence that way.  I’ll call me a’nt.”

“An’ what would ye do that for?  It’s the truth I’m tellin’ ye, darlint.  The very first minute I seen ye on the doorstep the heart leapt out o’ me breast.  You’re my choice, mavourneen, though I don’t so much as know your name yet.”

Elleney gazed at him timidly.  He was a pleasant-looking young fellow, and his eyes were very kind.  She turned quite pale because of the rapid beating of her heart.  What a wonderful thing it was that the prize over whom all her rich cousins had been disputing should have fallen to her share—­to her, poor little penniless Elleney.

“It’s too good of you entirely,” she was beginning in a tremulous voice; “but I don’t think you ought to go disappintin’ your father and me a’nt.”