“Mr. Holroyd will be quite a catch,” remarked Mrs. Redmond, rubbing her hands complacently, “and those Wilde girls will be sure to ask him over, although they have not called on his mother for years. He will show a _very_ poor spirit if he goes near them; they never ask anyone inside their house except young men; they are always having ‘friends of their brothers,’ as they call them, to stay at Mantrap Hall, as you have named it, Maria; and a capital name it is.” “I wonder if he sings?” said Belle meditatively. “Like his mother,” exclaimed Maria, casting up her eyes to the ceiling. “I hope _not_, poor unfortunate woman! her singing reminds me of a dog baying at the moon. She ought to be muzzled at the piano.” Miss Dopping looked as if she thought some one else might as well be muzzled too! “Mother,” continued Belle, “we really must have the piano tuned, and must make some smart aprons and caps for Eliza. I shall write to Madame Rosalie by to-night’s post. I have not a single decent dress, neither have you.” “What a stir, and what a fuss about one very ordinary young man!” growled Miss Dopping. “After all he may be engaged to some girl in India!” “He may,” agreed Belle, “but, at any rate, he is not ordinary, is he, Maria?” turning a look of tragic appeal on Miss Finny, “you have seen him?” “Yes, years ago; he was nothing very remarkable; he had nice eyes and a good figure, and looked like a gentleman, which is more than we can say for his step-brother, Denis.” Maria’s verdict was accepted in solemn affirmative silence, and, after a little desultory conversation on a less absorbing topic than Mr. Holroyd, the Finnys and Miss Dopping departed into the darkness of a chill November afternoon at the thirsty hour of five o’clock. As they poked their way down the greasy avenue, Maria exclaimed: “What a mean old woman! She had not the heart to offer us a cup of tea. Mark my words, mother, Belle Redmond will do her best to catch George Holroyd.” “Why? What makes you say that, dearie?” “Why? a child could tell you, and give you twenty reasons,” said Miss Finny contemptuously. “She hates Noone, and would marry a tinker, to get away from it. She is not as young as she was, and is desperately afraid of being an old maid. She adores officers, and would give ten years of her life to go to India. Mr. Holroyd is in the army; his regiment is in India; he has private means, and is so to speak ‘made to her hand;’ she will do all in her power to marry him. What do you say, Miss Dopping?” “I say that I hope the Lord will deliver him,” replied the old lady very piously. “Amen!” responded Maria Finny, with the fervency of a prayer. CHAPTER III. THE MALONES OF BRIDGETSTOWN. “For there’s nae luck about the house.” --W. J. MICKLE.