“What’s this I am afther hearing about you, Lizzie Maccabe?” enquired her aunt in a strangely forced voice. “I am sure I don’t know!” returned Lizzie, tossing her head, but her face became the colour of ashes, as her eyes fell upon the letters. “Is it true?” demanded the elder woman hoarsely. “What?” stammered the culprit. “That you write letters to that blackguard, Denis Malone, and meet him after dark, and kiss him?” Lizzie glanced appealingly at Joey, who leant against the wall and nodded his head, and looked at her with a grin of satisfied malice; there was no hope from Joey! “Yes, it’s true,” she answered in a whisper. “Then my house is no place for the likes of you,” said Bridget Maccabe, rising with an air that would have done credit to Sarah Siddons. “There’s the door; out you go!” “Oh, aunt, aunt, you don’t mean it?” “Come!” taking her roughly by the arm, “I’ll never see your brazen face again.” “Oh, Aunt Bridget!” cried the wretched girl, falling on the floor, and clasping her by the knees. “Don’t be so angry with me. Sure I would have told you long ago; only he would not let me. Sure we--we are married.” “Ye are what? Get up off the floor, ye shameless hussey.” “Married,” sobbed Lizzie, “married at a registry office in Dublin last year. Sure haven’t I my ring, and all the papers at the bottom of the little tin cash-box along with your bank book.” “Then sit there on that chair, where I can see you, that I may have a good look at the biggest fool that ever drew the breath of life,” and Mrs. Maccabe moved back a few steps, and gazed at her weeping niece, with her arms akimbo. “Lizzie, you are a wicked, low girl--deceiving them that was good to ye. What will Father Connell say, and the Reverend Mother, and (as an afterthought) the Malones?” “I don’t care what they say,” rejoined Lizzie, plucking up a little spirit. “I am Mrs. Denis Malone, and as good as the best, and Denis is the only son and heir.” “Heir, indeed!” shouted her aunt, “and what are you going to live on, if I may make bold to ask?” “The Major----” began Lizzie. “The Major can’t keep himself--let alone a son and a daughter-in-law. Why _I’m_ keeping the Major! Well, well, to think of it! First and foremost you will bring down your marriage lines to Father Connell, and then we will get you decently married in chapel, and then we will see how your husband is going to support you; for mind one thing, my good girl, you won’t live here; it would ill become the wife of the _heir_ of the Malones, to be chopping mate at her aunt’s the butcher. Aye and maybe cutting off the best loin chops for her lady mother-in-law.” “Maybe the Malones will take us in.” “Oh, keep your may bees for honey, and talk sense. I think I see the Major arming you in to dinner; if he does, maybe you’ll remind him of my bill. I think I see Mrs. Malone and Miss Betty making free with the likes of yees----”