“No, sir!”--now drawing up his bent back, and speaking with overwhelming dignity. “You see none of the neighbours had much chance of seeing the Countess. She was mostly out boating, or staying at home. It’s twenty-wan years ago, ye know, and not a sowl remembers whether her hair was black or yellow. Now, _I_ saw her every day, and I can never forget her, for I never saw any wan like her, and never will again.” “Except Mary Foley,” amended his listener. “Is she not admired, and remarked all over the country?” “No, I can’t say rightly that she is, though the young men does be wild about her; the old people and the women says she’s no great shakes; she’s too slim and small-made for the Kerry folk, and has no colour; they talk of her sperrit, and her singing and dancing, and her clever, smart chat, within three parishes: but they don’t say much of Mary’s _looks_, bekase, sir, they are a rough sort of ignorant people, and she’s out of the common.” “I must confess I should like to see her!” exclaimed Mr. Usher. “An’, sure, what’s to hinder ye? That’s aisy enough, if ye will give yerself the trouble to walk up some afternoon to Foley’s farm; there ye will see Mary herself standing in the doorway, ready for a word and a joke, and the house behind her just anyhow! She has no great heart for work, though she has a kind heart for the poor, and all the dumb creatures.” “Well, you have told me a most interesting story,” said Mr. Usher, as he came to a halt, “and I shall do my best to make the acquaintance of Mary Foley. Look here!” he added, as if struck by a sudden thought, “don’t say a word of what you’ve been telling me, to your wife. Women talk.” “Sure, man alive, don’t I know that, when I’ve buried three!” “Three wives?” repeated the old bachelor incredulously. “Three?” “Yes, faix--and all had a bit in the bank.” “Then you must be what they call a warm man.” “Augh, not at all”--with a gesture of repudiation--“what with bringing them home, and putting them out, they cost me a sight of money! As for what I’m after telling ye, sir, ’tis Bible truth, and here our roads goes different ways. Augh, not at all!” he exclaimed. “Sure, I would not be taking your silver, sor--it was a relief to me to spake. Well, well, then, I’ll not say agin the tobacco! I’m thankful fer your company and yer kindness to a bothered old man, listening to his quare, foolish talk”; and, with a hasty nod, Mike turned his back on Mr. Usher and hobbled away. “But was it all quare, foolish talk?” the lawyer asked himself, as he stood gazing after the retreating figure. “Was it one of two things: a mere ‘mare’s nest,’ or ‘a pretty kettle of fish’?”