Not long after this raid, the lady of the castle came suddenly on the culprit herself. It was a fine March afternoon, and, wearing her best merino frock and her Sunday shoes, Mary was on her way to drink a cup of tea with her friend Bridget Curran, and show her the elegant fine-drawn work she was after doing for Mrs. Hogan. Suddenly, at a corner, she found herself face to face with the person she most dreaded in the whole world, who deliberately halted, stared hard, and then burst out, “Where did you get that gold locket and chain? But I need not ask; you have a bold face to be going about the country, wearing my son’s presents”; and before the girl was aware Mrs. Doran suddenly stretched out her hand, broke the chain with a violent snap, and flung it and the little locket, into the middle of the road. “What are ye doing, ma’am?” cried the girl, roused to passion. “I’m tearing my son’s presents off you, you wicked, scheming little hussy!” “’Tis none of your son’s presents,” rejoined Mary, with her face aflame. “I’m not that sort; I take nothing from a gentleman.” “You took his dog!” retorted the other triumphantly. “I did not,” replied Mary, quivering with antagonism; “and I bought the locket with my own money”; and she held up her head and surveyed Mrs. Doran with fierce, if unspoken defiance. “You’re a liar! a liar! a liar!” screamed her enemy, now abandoning all self-control. “I am not, and it’s as true as if I was to be judged, that I bought it with my egg money; and God knows it took me long enough to gather--six mortal years; but it came out of his mother’s meanness, and not out of Mr. Ulick’s purse.” And when she concluded, Mary stooped and picked up the battered little gewgaw, which had cost her three pounds. “As for being a liar,” she resumed, “them’s queer sort of words for a lady to use--but then _you_ are no lady.” “If you don’t take care, I’ll box your ears!” screamed the matron. Father Daly had called her “shameless.” This chit of an egg-girl declared she was no “lady.” Was the world coming to an end? “Mind”--and she seized the girl’s arm in a grip of passion--“if ever you dare to speak to my son again, it will be worse for you.” “I see ye have a poor opinion of Mr. Ulick, ma’am,” she answered, wrenching herself out of Mrs. Doran’s grasp. “No, but of you, you double-faced schemer--you odious little red-haired flirt. You will come to a bad end!” and Mrs. Doran passed on, now breathless, and completely exhausted by the violence of her own emotions.