_Miss G._ Hark till I hear! Is not that a drum I hear? Ay, I had always a
quick ear for the drum from my cradle. And there's the whole band--but it's
only at the turn of the avenue. It's on parade they are. So I'll be dressed
and dacent before they are here, I'll engage. And it's my plaid scarf I'll
throw over all, iligant for the Highlanders, and I don't doubt but the
drum-major will be conquist to it at my feet afore night--and what will Mr.
Gilbert say to that? And what matter what he says?--I'm not bound to him,
especially as he never popped me the question, being so preposterously
bashful, as them Englishmen have the misfortune to be. But that's not
my fault any way. And if I happen to find a more shutable match, while
he's turning the words in his mouth, who's to blame me?--My father,
suppose!--And what matter?--Have not I two hundred pounds of my own, down
on the nail, if the worst come to the worst, and why need I be a slave to
any man, father or other?--But he'll kill himself soon with the whiskey,
poor man, at the rate he's going. Two glasses now for his _mornings_, and
his _mornings_ are going on all day. There he is, roaring. (_Mr. GALLAGHER
heard singing._) You can't come in here, sir.

[_She bolts the door._

_Enter CHRISTY GALLAGHER, kicking the door open._

_Christy._ Can't I, dear? what will hinder me?--Give me the _kay_ of the
spirits, if you plase.

_Miss G._ Oh, sir! see how you are walking through all my things.

_Christy._ And they on the floor!--where else should I walk, but on the
floor, pray, Miss Gallagher?--Is it, like a fly, on the ceiling you'd have
me be, walking with my head upside down, to plase you?