“She has that young Holroyd there every day of his life,” returned Maria, who, having a budget of news, was speechfully happy. “Pooh, what rubbish; he has only been here ten days, and, may be, he has nowhere else to go to--or perhaps you expect him to hang up his hat in _your_ hall, Maria.” “No, Miss Dopping, you know I do not, but he is a nice gentlemanly young man, and, surely to goodness, you would not like to see him ruined for life! He has been very liberal to his mother. She was down the street paying bills a few days after he came. I saw her myself, going into Maccabe’s and Casey’s, and she has not faced _them_ for months.” “Then why the deuce doesn’t she look after her son? What is the fool of a woman about? If he marries, she has seen the last of his money, and most likely the last of _him_.” “And don’t you know Mrs. Malone by this time?” enquired Maria contemptuously--“a poor helpless creature, all her mind is set on making things pleasant for Mr. Holroyd, keeping him and the Major on good terms, and hiding Denis and his doings from them both.” “Will you tell me one thing, Maria Finny--_you_ know what goes on in the town, if any one does. Since I am confined to the house, I am a good deal at the window.” “You always _are_,” interrupted Maria, with her usual acid frankness. Maria neither gave nor accepted quarter. “The song--‘Only a Face at the Window,’ was surely made about you.” “Tell me, Maria, what is Denis doing in Maccabe’s? He is in and out there like a dog in a fair. If it was a _public_, I could understand it, but butchers’ meat throws me fairly off the scent.” “Off the scent, are you? And hasn’t Mrs. Maccabe more than beef and mutton in her shop? Hasn’t she a pretty niece?” “Nonsense, Maria! hold your blistering, scurrilous tongue,” said the old lady, pushing her chair back, with great violence. “Tongue, or no tongue, I’ve an eye in my head,” returned Maria undauntedly. “Lizzie is one of your still waters, with her sleek hair, and downcast eyes, and ‘yes, Miss Finny,’ and ‘no, Miss Finny’--scarcely above her breath. She is as deep as a draw-well. I saw Denis and her walking together in the bog road last Sunday.” “Then, by my oath, if her aunt knew it, she would just flay her alive,” said Miss Dopping, excitedly.