Here are Ladies Part 15

"Never, ma'm," was his reply. "I only take it myself because my hearing is bad. Now, listen to me, young man. You want to marry Julia Elizabeth, and I'll be glad to see her married to a sensible, sober, industrious husband.--When I spoke about her a minute ago I was only joking."

"I knew it all the time," said his wife. "Do you remember, Mr.

O'Grady, I winked at you?"

"The girl is a good girl," said her husband, "and well brought up."

"Yes," said his wife, "her hair reaches down to her waist, and she won a prize for composition--Jessica's First Prayer, all about a girl with----"

Mr. O'Reilly continued--

"She brings me up a cup of tea every morning before I get up."

"She never wore spectacles in her life," said Mrs. O'Reilly, "and she got a prize for freehand drawing."

"She did so," said Mr. O'Reilly.

His wife continued--

"The Schoolboy Baronet it was; all about a young man that broke his leg down a coal mine and it never got well again until he met the girl of his heart."

"Tell me," said Mr. O'Reilly, "how are you young people going to live, and where?"

His wife interpolated--

"Your Aunt Jane told me that you had seventeen s.h.i.+llings and sixpence a week.--Take my advice and live on the south side--two rooms easily and most salubrious."

The young man coughed guardedly, he had received a rise of wages since that information pa.s.sed, but candour belongs to childhood, and one must live these frailties down--

"Seventeen and six isn't very much, of course," said he, "but I am young and strong----"

"It's more than I had," said his host, "when I was your age. h.e.l.lo, there's the post!"

Mrs. O'Reilly went to the door and returned instantly with a letter in her hand. She presented it to her husband--

"It's addressed to you, O'Reilly," said she plaintively. "Maybe it's a bill, but G.o.d's good and maybe it's a cheque."

Her husband nodded at the company and tore his letter open. He read it, and, at once as it appeared, he went mad, he raved, he stuttered, now slapping the letter with his forefinger and, anon, shaking his fist at his wife--

"Here's your daughter, ma'm," he stammered. "Here's your daughter, I say."

"Where?" cried the amazed lady. "What is it, O'Reilly?" She arose hastily and rolled towards him.

Mr. O'Reilly repelled her fiercely--

"A good riddance," he shouted.

"Tell me, O'Reilly, I command you," cried his wife.

"A minx, a jade," snarled the man.

"I insist," said she. "I must be told. I'm not well, I tell you. My head's going round. Give me the letter."

Mr. O'Reilly drew about him a sudden and terrible calmness--

"Listen, woman," said he, "and you too, young man, and be thankful for your escape."

"DEAR PA," he read, "this is to tell you that I got married to-day to Christie Rorke. We are going to open a little fried-fish shop near Amiens Street. Hoping this finds you as it leaves me at present, your loving daughter,

"JULIA ELIZABETH.

"P.S.--Give Christie's love to Ma."

Mrs. O'Reilly sank again to her chair.

Her mouth was partly open. She breathed with difficulty. Her eyes were fixed on s.p.a.ce, and she seemed to be communing with the guardians of Chaos--

"Married!" said she in a musing whisper. "Christie!" said she. She turned to her husband--"What an amazing thing. Doesn't it make you think, O'Reilly, of the poem, 'The World Recedes, it Disappears'?"

"It does not, ma'm," said her husband savagely.

"And what is this young gentleman going to do?" she continued, gazing tearfully at the suitor.

"He's going to go home," replied her husband fiercely. "He ought to be in bed long ago."

"A broken heart," said his wife, "is a sad companion to go home with.

Doesn't it make you think of the song----?"

"It does not, ma'm," roared her husband. "I'm going back to my work,"

and once again the door banged and the room shook.

Young Mr. O'Grady arose timidly. The world was swimming about him.

Love had deserted him, and etiquette was now his sole anchor; he shook hands with Mrs. O'Reilly--

"I think I had better be going now," said he. "Good-bye, Mrs.

O'Reilly."

"Must you really go?" said that lady with the smile of a maniac.

"I'm afraid so," and he moved towards the door.

"Well," said she, "give my love to your mother and your Aunt Jane."

"I will," was his reply, "and," with firm politeness, "thank you for a very pleasant evening."

"Don't mention it, Mr. O'Grady. Good-bye."

Mrs. O'Reilly closed the door and walked back towards the table smiling madly. She sank into a chair. Her eye fell on the b.u.t.ter-knife--