As he looked at the girl in her dainty white muslin, with her delicate features and wonderful hair, he could have imagined he was addressing one of his own class; then he noticed the surrounding faces, the grooms, gardeners, and labouring men, and their families, and realised that Mary was one of _these_. She was unaccountably shy, and would only say yes or no, being aware that her mother was watching her keenly; so was Mrs. Hogan, and, to tell the truth, also the jealous eyes of a dozen other girls and young men were wondering to see Mr. Ulick making so much of little Mary Foley! Possibly the situation struck him as somewhat _prononcé_, and he hastened to distribute greetings and nods among a number of the crowd, in his pleasant off-hand manner; then he took himself away to his proper sphere, among the somewhat dull quality in the dining-room! Mary walked home, one of a large and merry party that clear frosty night, silent herself, but listening to the “talk” about the gentry--their grand dress and looks--the quality of the refreshments, Father Daly’s singing, and Mr. Ulick’s, which “just beat all.” “Begob, ’tis him could sing the heart out of a girl’s breast,” declared one admirer, and in this opinion Mary silently concurred; his song was still ringing in her ears. How different he was to the young men and boys, with his white glossy shirt-front, and beautiful little neat tie, the faint scent of cigars about him, and his nice clean hands--how superior to Patsie Maguire, with his coarse hair, broken nails, and atmosphere of turf and tallow. Even in his new tweeds, Patsie looked nothing at all, and had a great slouch on him. Undoubtedly it was hard on poor Patsie thus to draw comparisons between him and his master, who had the advantage of a drill-sergeant and a first-rate tailor; but at any rate Ulick Doran had unwittingly accomplished one feat. He had “sung the heart out of Mary Foley’s breast.” CHAPTER VIII