However, they passed the evening very comfortably,—­quite sufficiently so to make Anty feel that the kindly, humble friendship of the inn was infinitely preferable to the miserable grandeur of Dunmore House; and it is probable that all the lovemaking in the world would not have operated so strongly in Martin’s favour as this feeling.  Meg, however, was not satisfied, for as soon as she had seen Jane and Anty into the bed-room she returned to her brother, and lectured him as to his lukewarm manifestations of affection.

“Martin,” said she, returning into the little sitting-room, and carefully shutting the door after her, “you’re the biggest bosthoon of a gandher I ever see, to be losing your opportunities with Anty this way!  I b’lieve it’s waiting you are for herself to come forward to you.  Do you think a young woman don’t expect something more from a lover than jist for you to sit by her, and go on all as one as though she was one of your own sisthers?  Av’ once she gets out of this before the priest has made one of the two of you, mind, I tell you, it’ll be all up with you.  I wondher, Martin, you haven’t got more pluck in you!”

“Oh! bother, Meg.  You’re thinking of nothing but kissing and slobbhering.—­Anty’s not the same as you and Jane, and doesn’t be all agog for such nonsense!”

“I tell you, Martin, Anty’s a woman; and, take my word for it, what another girl likes won’t come amiss to her.  Besides, why don’t you spake to her?”

“Spake?—­why, what would you have me spake?”

“Well, Martin, you’re a fool.  Have you, or have you not, made up your mind to marry Anty?”

“To be shure I will, av’ she’ll have me.”

“And do you expect her to have you without asking?”

“Shure, you know, didn’t I ask her often enough?”

“Ah, but you must do more than jist ask her that way.  She’ll never make up her mind to go before the priest, unless you say something sthronger to her.  Jist tell her, plump out, you’re ready and willing, and get the thing done before Lent.  What’s to hindher you?—­shure, you know,” she added, in a whisper, “you’ll not get sich a fortune as Anty’s in your way every day.  Spake out, man, and don’t be afraid of her:  take my word she won’t like you a bit the worse for a few kisses.”

Martin promised to comply with his sister’s advice, and to sound Anty touching their marriage on the following morning after mass.

On the Sunday morning, at breakfast, the widow proposed to Anty that she should go to mass with herself and her daughters; but Anty trembled so violently at the idea of showing herself in public, after her escape from Dunmore House, that the widow did not press her to do so, although afterwards she expressed her disapprobation of Anty’s conduct to her own girls.

“I don’t see what she has to be afeard of,” said she, “in going to get mass from her own clergyman in her own chapel.  She don’t think, I suppose, that Barry Lynch’d dare come in there to pull her out, before the blessed altar, glory be to God.”