’On my way to canteen I ran against Lascelles, colour-sergint that was av E Comp’ny, a hard, hard man, wid a torment av a wife.  “You’ve the head av a drowned man on your shoulders,” sez he; “an’ you’re goin’ where you’ll get a worse wan.  Come back,” sez he.  “Let me go,” sez I.  “I’ve thrown my luck over the wall wid my own hand!”—­“Then that’s not the way to get ut back again,” sez he.  “Have out wid your throuble, ye fool-bhoy.”  An’ I tould him how the matther was.

’He sucked in his lower lip.  “You’ve been thrapped,” sez he.  “Ju Sheehy wud be the betther for a man’s name to hers as soon as can.  An’ we thought ye’d put the comether on her,—­that’s the natural vanity of the baste, Terence, you’re a big born fool, but you’re not bad enough to marry into that comp’ny.  If you said anythin’, an’ for all your protestations I’m sure ye did—­or did not, which is worse,—­eat ut all—­ lie like the father of all lies, but come out av ut free av Judy.  Do I not know what ut is to marry a woman that was the very spit an’ image av Judy whin she was young?  I’m gettin’ old an’ I’ve larnt patience, but you, Terence, you’d raise hand on Judy an’ kill her in a year.  Never mind if Dinah gives you the go, you’ve desarved ut; never mind if the whole reg’mint laughs you all day.  Get shut av Judy an’ her mother.  They can’t dhrag you to church, but if they do, they’ll dhrag you to hell.  Go back to your quarters and lie down,” sez he.  Thin over his shoulder, “You must ha’ done with thim.”

’Next day I wint to see Dinah, but there was no tucker in me as I walked.  I knew the throuble wud come soon enough widout any handlin’ av mine, an’ I dreaded ut sore.

‘I heard Judy callin’ me, but I hild straight on to the Shadds’ quarthers, an’ Dinah wud ha’ kissed me but I put her back.

‘"Whin all’s said, darlin’,” sez I, “you can give ut me if ye will, tho’ I misdoubt ’twill be so easy to come by then.”

‘I had scarce begun to put the explanation into shape before Judy an’ her mother came to the door.  I think there was a verandah, but I’m forgettin’.

’"Will ye not step in?” sez Dinah, pretty and polite, though the Shadds had no dealin’s with the Sheehys.  Ould Mother Shadd looked up quick, an’ she was the fust to see the throuble; for Dinah was her daughter.

‘"I’m pressed for time to-day,” sez Judy as bould as brass; “an’ I’ve only come for Terence,—­my promust man.  ’Tis strange to find him here the day afther the day.”

‘Dinah looked at me as though I had hit her, an’ I answered straight.

‘"There was some nonsinse last night at the Sheehys’ quarthers, an’ Judy’s carryin’ on the joke, darlin’,” sez I.

‘"At the Sheehys’ quarthers?” sez Dinah very slow, an’ Judy cut in wid:  “He was there from nine till ten, Dinah Shadd, an’ the betther half av that time I was sittin’ on his knee, Dinah Shadd.  Ye may look and ye may look an’ ye may look me up an’ down, but ye won’t look away that Terence is my promust man.  Terence, darlin’, ‘tis time for us to be comin’ home.”