o
speak to yourself and your husband before I said anything to her."

Mrs. O'Reilly wheeled slowly to face him--

"Did you now?" said she, "and is it about Julia Elizabeth you came
over? Well, well, well, just to think of it! But I guessed it long
ago, when you bought the yellow boots. She's a real good girl, Mr.
O'Grady. There's many and many's the young man, and they in good
positions, mind you--but maybe you don't mean that at all. Is it a
message from your Aunt Jane or your mother? Your Aunt Jane does send
messages, God help her!"

"It's not, Mrs. O'Reilly: it's, if I may presume to say so, about
myself."

"I knew it," was the rapid and enthusiastic reply. "She's a fine cook,
Mr. O'Grady, and a head of hair that reaches down to her waist, and won
prizes at school for composition. I'll call himself--he'll be
delighted. He's in the next room making faces at a map. Maps are a
terrible occupation, Mr. O'Grady, they spoil his eyesight and make him
curse----"

She ambled to the door and called urgently--

"O'Reilly, here's young Mr. O'Grady wants to see you."

Her husband entered with a pen in his mouth and looked very severely at
his visitor--

"What brought you round, young man?" said he.

The youth became very nervous. He stood up stammering--

"It's a delicate subject, sir," said he, "and I thought it would only
be right to come to you first."

Here the lady broke in rapturously--

"Isn't it splendid, O'Reilly! You and me sitting here growing old and
contented, and this young gentleman talking to us the way he is.
Doesn't it make you think of the song 'John Anderson, my Jo, John'?"

Her husband turned a bewildered but savage eye on his spouse--

"It does not, ma'm," said he. "Well," he barked at Mr. O'Grady, "what
do you want?"

"I want to speak about your daughter, sir."

"She's not a delicate subject."

"No indeed," said his wife. "Never a day's illness in her life except
the measles, and they're wholesome when you're young, and an appetite
worth cooking for, two eggs every morning and more if she got it."

Her husband turned on her with hands of frenzy--

"Oh----!" said he, and then to their visitor, "What have you to say
about my daughter?"

"The fact is, sir," he stammered, "I'm in love with her."

"I see, you are the delicate subject, and what then?"

"And I want to marry her, sir."

"That's not delicacy, that's disease, young man. Have you spoken to
Julia Elizabeth about this?"