Mrs. O'Shanaghgan extended her hand with a limp action.

"Oh, dear!" panted Biddy.

"What is up, my dear Bridget?" said her mother, turning round and
looking at her daughter. "Oh, to goodness, what have you put that on
for? It's your very best Sunday-go-to-meeting dress, and you won't
have another, I can tell you, for six months."

"There now, mother, hush, do," said Biddy. "I have put it on for a
purpose. Why, then, it's sweet I want to make myself, and I believe
it's sweet I look. Oh, there's the mirror; let me gaze at myself."

She crossed the room, and stood in front of a long glass, examining
her unsuitable dress from the front and side; and then, being
thoroughly satisfied with the elegance of appearance, she went back
and stood in front of Mrs. O'Shanaghgan.

"It's a request I want to make of you, ma'am," she said.

"Well, Biddy, I will listen to it if you will ask me properly," said
Mrs. O'Shanaghgan.

"Yes, to be sure," said Biddy. "How shall I say it?"

"Speak quietly, my dear."

"Yes, Biddy, I do wish you would take pattern by Nora, and by Mrs.
O'Shanaghgan," said Mrs. Murphy, who in her heart of hearts envied
Mrs. O'Shanaghgan's icy manners, and thought them the most perfect