North, South and over the Sea Part 27

Elleney clapped her hands. "Oh dear, is it Juliana?"

"It's not Juliana, then," said he. "Is that the big one with the top-knot? Sure, what sort of taste d'ye think I have?"

"It wouldn't be Bridget!" cried she, laughing till every little white tooth was visible.

"That's a bad shot--I'm afeard ye're no hand at guessin'."

"I wished it was Nanny," said Elleney earnestly; "she's the best-hearted girl in the world."

"You wished it was her, do ye? Well, I'm sorry I can't gratify ye. My choice was made before I ever set eyes on e'er a one of them."

"Then ye'd no call to come here at all," interrupted Elleney indignantly.

"Whisht! Don't be bitin' the nose off me that way. Ye little schemer, ye know very well it's yerself that carries all before ye. Sure, who'd have eyes for any one else when you were to the fore?"

"Och, Mr. Brian, it's a shame for ye!" cried Elleney, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes. "Ye've no right to come givin' me impidence that way. I'll call me a'nt."

"An' what would ye do that for? It's the truth I'm tellin' ye, darlint. The very first minute I seen ye on the doorstep the heart leapt out o' me breast. You're my choice, mavourneen, though I don't so much as know your name yet."

Elleney gazed at him timidly. He was a pleasant-looking young fellow, and his eyes were very kind. She turned quite pale because of the rapid beating of her heart. What a wonderful thing it was that the prize over whom all her rich cousins had been disputing should have fallen to her share--to her, poor little penniless Elleney.

"It's too good of you entirely," she was beginning in a tremulous voice; "but I don't think you ought to go disappintin' your father and me a'nt."

But before she could proceed further in her little speech the narrow door which gave access to the house was thrown open and Mary Nolan appeared upon the scene.

"Elleney, you're to--" she was beginning, when she suddenly stopped, and, to use her own expression, "let a yell" that brought her aunt and cousins in tumult to the scene.

"I couldn't for the life o' me help it," she explained as they crowded round her. "When I had the door opened who did I see but himself"--designating Brian--"with his impident arm round Elleney's waist--the bould little scut!"

"Sure, I didn't ax him to put it there," protested Elleney, beginning to cry; "I didn't rightly know what he was doin'."

"Ladies," said the suitor, "don't disthress yourselves. There wasn't a ha'porth of harm in it--me arm was in the right place. I come here by my father's wish an' with your consent, ma'am, to choose one o' your family for my wife. Me clargy wouldn't let me marry the whole of yez, so I have to be content with one, an' I'm after choosin' this one."

Juliana laughed shrilly and ironically, and Henrietta clapped her hands together; the rest stood round with stony faces, except Nanny, who cast a dubious and compa.s.sionate glance at Elleney.

"Lord save us!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. McNally, when she had recovered her wits, "I never thought o' such a thing. I had a right to have told ye--it's a mistake. Me poor young man, come away with me an' I'll tell ye."

"No mistake at all, ma'am," Brian was beginning, with a bright backward glance at Elleney; but Mrs. McNally clutched him by the arm, looking so much disturbed the while, that the words died on his lips, and he suffered himself to be drawn along the pa.s.sage and into the parlour. The others also melted away with many scornful murmurs and withering glances, all except Nanny, who hurled herself round the counter and caught Elleney in her arms.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ELLENEY "With his impident arm round Elleney's waist"]

"Ye poor misfortunate innicent!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't ye tell him ye weren't rightly one o' the family?"

"He didn't give me time," faltered Elleney; adding with more spirit, "Besides, what matter if it's me he likes the best?"

"Bless us an' save us!" groaned Nanny; "sure how can ye get married when ye haven't so much as a one pound note o' your own?"

"Do you think he didn't know?" gasped Elleney, looking very blank.

"Not a know," responded Nanny, with decision. "My mother had a right to have told him, but some way not one of us dreamed of him thinkin'

of you. Sure, girl alive, if _he_ was willin' itself, his father 'ud never agree to his havin' ye."

"I s'pose not," said Elleney; "but ye don't know all he's afther sayin' to me, Nanny."

"Och, divil doubt him!" exclaimed Nanny, with a vexed laugh. "Sure, that's the way they all does be goin' on. If ye had more sense, Elleney, me dear, ye'd know how to be up to them. Whisht!--here's m'mah!"

Poor Mrs. McNally's heavy foot was now heard hastening along the pa.s.sage, and in another minute she entered--alone, her kind face was all puckered up with concern, and at first sight of it Elleney knew exactly how matters stood. She disengaged herself from Nanny and went quietly up to her aunt.

"I hope you explained to him that I didn't rightly understand what he was sayin'," she observed with a certain childish dignity that took the others by surprise. "It was all a mistake, of course, but there's no great harm done."

"Not a bit of harm at all, me dear," groaned Mrs. McNally. "Not a bit of harm in the world--only for the disappointment."

"No disappointment," returned Elleney; her eyes were steady, though that red under-lip of hers would quiver; "no disappointment, a'nt, I hope. He'll be sure to pick out one of the girls, won't he?"

"I b'lieve so," answered Mrs. McNally, propping herself against the counter. "He's afther tellin' me his father 'ud be the death of him if--"

"Sure that's all right," interrupted her niece. "Nanny, you ought to go and see to him."

"Do, Nanny," said the mother. "He was askin' for you."

"Then he may ask away," retorted Nanny. "Do ye remember the story o'

the Connaught woman who said 'Purse, will ye have him?' when the fellow made up to her for her money. My purse says 'No.' Let him try Juliana. Is that the bar bell ringing?"

"Aye, it is; ye'd best be off an' see what's wanted. Bridget and Mary is so taken up with that young fellow I declare they don't know whether they're on their heads or their heels."

"Aye, indeed," cried Anna Maria with her jolly laugh. "I seen them prancin' round him like a couple o' goats, as old as they are."

She vanished, and Mrs. McNally also went away.

Some time later Pat Rooney entered the shop, bearing a large tray of newly-baked loaves. His face wore a solemn, not to say sulky, expression, and he looked neither to right nor to left. Before he had finished piling up the loaves in their allotted corner, however, a suspicious sound attracted his attention, and he turned reluctantly round. A small figure was crouching in the darkest angle of the "dress department," with its ap.r.o.n over its head.

"Is it cryin' ye are?" said Pat sternly.

For all answer Elleney sobbed afresh.

The young man drew nearer, and Elleney tilted up one elbow as a hint to him to keep his distance.

"Bedad, ye have no right to be cryin'," remarked Pat in a withering tone. "It was the other way wid ye altogether when I looked in through the door a while ago, on my way back from me dinner. If I hadn't seen it wid me own two eyes," he added with scornful severity, "I wouldn't have believed it was you that was in it at all."

Elleney jerked down her ap.r.o.n, and looked up with eyes that blazed beneath their swollen lids.

"How dar' ye speak to me that way?" she cried.

Pat snorted: "To be sure I've no right to say a word at all," he returned, with wrathful irony. "A poor fellow like meself has no call to have any feelin's--but ye might have knocked me down with a feather when I seen that strange chap with his arm about your waist."

"Oh Pat!" gasped Elleney, and overcome with shame and woe, she burst into fresh tears, and buried her face in the unresponsive folds of a linsey-woolsey petticoat which dangled from a peg beside her.

Pat immediately melted.