abhorrent to such as old Johnny Galvin the steward, or Peter Flood the
gardener, or, stiffest in her own conceit of all, Mrs. Twomey of the
dairy.

"Master Larry's coming home from Cluhir tomorrow, Mary," Miss
Coppinger announced, with satisfaction, to the peculiar confection of
grey hair and black chenille net that represented the back of Mrs.
Twomey's head, her forehead being pressed against the side of the cow
that she was milking.

"Thang-aade!" replied Mrs. Twomey fervently, expressing in this
concise form her gratitude to her Creator for what she considered to
be Larry's release from a very vile durance "He's long enough in it
already!"

"The Doctor wouldn't let me move him any sooner," replied Miss
Coppinger, apologetically.

"The divil doubt him, what a fool he'd be!" said Mrs. Twomey with a
bitter laugh. "Aren't they all sayin' as sure as gun is iron it's what
he wants that he'll see his daughter in Coppinger's Court before he
dies!"

"What nonsense!" said Miss Coppinger, warmly; "I should like to know
who is saying it!"

Mrs. Twomey, milking ceaselessly, slewed her head a little and looked
at her employer out of the corner of an eye as bright and as cunning
as a hen's, and said: "As rich as your Honour is, you couldn't put a
penny into the mouth of every man that's sayin' it!"