“No--how could I? And she only nineteen? Look here, Isabella, you know I never mince my words, do I? I always thought it _was_ Betty. I say so plainly to your face, and I suppose I must be dropping into my second childhood, for I declare I certainly thought by the looks of that young fellow, that he was desperately in love with her, and it seemed to me, when I’d seen them riding together side by side, so handsome and so happy, that the Lord made them for one another! Will you swear to me here on the top of Ballingoole Bridge, that there has been no bamboozling about letters, and no trickery of any kind?” Such an insinuation was more than the expectant bride-elect could tamely bear--even from rich Miss Dopping. “I swear to you that there has not,” returned Belle, glaring at her with her face and eyes in flame, and literally trembling with fury. “You wicked old woman; you may see his letters if you like? Of course I know that you are horribly annoyed to find that anyone could prefer _me_ to Betty; it’s lucky for me that there are not many Miss Doppings in the world! Thank goodness, I have plenty of friends, and always been a favourite wherever I have been.” “Oh, of course,” agreed the old lady drily, “we all know that your mother reared an angel; but Betty has no mother, and none to put in a word for her but me. I have asked you a plain question privately, and you have given me my answer, and there is an end of it.” “And are you satisfied, because _that_ is so very important?” sneered Belle, with an expression on her face that rendered it downright ugly. “Well, I am satisfied that you are telling me the truth,” she returned evasively; “and since it is so, you are getting a very good match, for a good son will be a good husband. I wish you joy and I need detain you no longer. I’ll just go on to Noone, since I _am_ this far.” Belle, whose feathers had been considerably ruffled by this encounter, found her good spirits and self-approval return, as she visited in turn the post office, the Finnys and the Dooleys. She was the heroine of the hour, and enjoyed her brief triumph. The Dooleys, who kept a draper’s shop and the dressmakers’ establishment, and who had a keen eye to future orders, although they had had stormy passages with Belle (but who had not?) laid on congratulations and flattery, so to speak, with a trowel, and she was figuratively plastered over with compliments by the time she arrived at Mrs. Maccabe’s with a small domestic order. “And so they tell me you’re going to the Indes, miss?” said the widow as she carefully pared and trimmed four loin chops, operating on them quite in a fashion after Mrs. Redmond’s own heart. “Ye’ll like that, I suppose?” “Yes, I have all my life longed to go to India.”