is,
Pat, ye'd best be off with yourself."

Pat turned as red as a cherry, and then as white as his own flour.

"Miss Elleney, dear," he whispered, "d'ye know what ye're sayin'? D'ye
know I'm such a great big fool that I'm beginning to think the most
outrageous nonsense. I'll be beginnin' to think soon, me jewel, that
ye might some day be gettin' a bit fond o' me, an' maybe say Yes when
I ax ye a question. Sure ye didn't think of that, alanna?"

"Will ye whisht, ye impident fellow?" cried Mrs. McNally angrily. "Of
course she thought o' no such thing."

Elleney turned her sweet eyes deprecatingly towards her aunt, and
murmured very faintly--

"I don't know--I--I think I did."

* * * * *

Half-an-hour afterwards Mrs. McNally entered the parlour with a
dubious, almost timid, expression on her good-natured face. Most of
her family was gathered round the hearth, talking in muffled tones,
and with gloomy countenances. Behind the window-curtain Brian Brennan
and Anna Maria were tittering together. Mrs. McNally jerked her thumb
inquiringly over her shoulder, and raised her eyebrows.

"Is that the way it is?" she whispered.

"You'd better ask them," returned Juliana, with her nose in the air.

Bridget sniffed audibly.

"She reg'larly thrun herself at his head," said Mary spitefully.

"Did I indeed?" said Nanny, emerging from behind the window-curtain.
"Brian here could tell yous a different story. He's been beggin' an'
prayin' this half-hour, an' I haven't give him an answer yet."

"Ah, but you will!" said Brian, with an ingratiating smile.

"If I do then it 'ull be for the sake of servin' you out. Ye never
heard the like of the life I'll be leadin' ye. Ye'll only be sorry
once, an' that'll be for ever."

"I'll risk that," said Brian gallantly.

"Well, well, well," said Mrs. McNally, clapping her hands; "so it's to
be you, Nanny! 'Pon me word it rains weddin's this evenin'. I don't
know whether I'm on me head or me heels. There's Elleney,
now--nothin'll serve her but to go takin' up with Pat Rooney."

"Pat Rooney!" exclaimed Anna Maria, while the rest of the family
echoed the name in varying tones of shrill disapproval.

"Aye, indeed," said Mrs. McNally, dropping into a chair.

"Pat Rooney. Her mind's made up, it seems, and 'pon me word, though I
thought she'd have looked higher, I can't altogether blame the girl.
Sure what sort of a husband can she expect, and her without a penny?