“Well,” said she, without paying them the slightest attention, “I must say, Mr. M’Clutchy, that if you proceed as you threaten to do, your conduct towards me and my poor orphan will be such as I don’t think you can justify either to God or man.  I wish you good morning, sir; I have no more to say upon it.”

“Oh, Mrs. Tyrrell, if you begin to abuse us and lay down the law on the matter, I have no more to say either.”

She then went out, but had not left the hall, when Phil, following, said in a low, impudent, confidential tone—­

“Don’t be in a hurry, Mrs. Tyrrell, just step into the parlor for a few minutes, and we’ll see what can be done—­step in.”

“No, sir,” she replied, feeling very naturally offended at the familiarity of his manner, I will not step in; anything you have to, say you can say it here.”

“Yes—­but, then, they may overhear us.  D—­n my honor, but you’re a very pretty woman, Mrs. Tyrrell, and I’d be sorry to see harsh, proceedings taken against you—­that is, if we could understand one another.  The scarlet hue of indignation had already overspread her face and temples, her eyes flashed, and her voice became firm and full.

“What do you mean, sir,” she asked.

“Why,” said he, “couldn’t there be an understanding between us?  In fact, Mrs. Tyrrell, you would find me a friend to you.”

She made no reply but returned into the room.

“Mr. M’Clutchy,” said she, “I thought that a woman—­especially a poor, unprotected widow like me—­might, at least, come into your house about her necessary business without being insulted; I thought that if there was one house above another where I ought to expect protection, it is yours.  It’s your duty, I think, to protect them that’s livin’ upon this property, and strugglin’ to pay you, or him that employs you, the hard-earned rent that keeps them in poverty and hardship.  I think, sir, it ought to be your duty, as I said, to protect me, and such as me, rather than leave us exposed to the abominable proposals of your son.”

“How is this?” said Val; “where are you, Phil?”

Phil entered with a grin on him, that betrayed very clearly the morals of the father, as well as of himself.  There was not the slightest appearance of shame or confusion about him; on the contrary, he looked upon the matter as a good joke, but, by no means, so good as if it had been successful.

“Phil,” said his father, barely restraining a smile, “is it possible that you could dare to insult Mrs. Tyrrell under this roof?”

“D—­n my honor, a confounded lie,” replied Phil; “she wanted me to lend her the money, and because I did not, she told you I made proposals to her.  All revenge and a lie.”

Mrs. Tyrrell looked at him—­“Well,” said she, “if there is a just God in heaven, you will be made an example of yet.  Oh! little they know that own this property, and every other property like it—­of the insults, and hardships, and oppressions, that their tenantry must suffer in their absence from them that’s placed over them; and without any one to protect them or appeal to for satisfaction or relief—­sir, that villain in the shape of your son—­that cowardly villain knows that the words he insulted me in are not yet cowld upon his lips.”