MARY DOUL. I would not, Martin. (She leans forward earnestly.)
For when I seen myself in them pools, I seen my hair would be
gray or white, maybe, in a short while, and I seen with it that
I'd a face would be a great wonder when it'll have soft white
hair falling around it, the way when I'm an old woman there won't
be the like of me surely in the seven counties of the east.

MARTIN DOUL -- [with real admiration.] -- You're a cute thinking
woman, Mary Doul, and it's no lie.

MARY DOUL -- [triumphantly.] -- I am, surely, and I'm telling you
a beautiful white-haired woman is a grand thing to see, for I'm
told when Kitty Bawn was selling poteen below, the young men
itself would never tire to be looking in her face.

MARTIN DOUL -- [taking off his hat and feeling his head, speaking
with hesitation.] -- Did you think to look, Mary Doul, would
there be a whiteness the like of that coming upon me?

MARY DOUL -- [with extreme contempt.] -- On you, God help you! .
. . In a short while you'll have a head on you as bald as an old
turnip you'd see rolling round in the muck. You need never talk
again of your fine looks, Martin Doul, for the day of that talk's
gone for ever.

MARTIN DOUL. That's a hard word to be saying, for I was thinking
if I'd a bit of comfort, the like of yourself, it's not far off
we'd be from the good days went before, and that'd be a wonder
surely. But I'll never rest easy, thinking you're a gray,