_Dennis._ At her, my little crature! By my soul, she'll bother the ould one!--'Faith, the Madeira has done her a deal of service! _Mrs. Brul._ What's to be said, is said before _me_; and that's flat. _Mary._ Do tell it, then, [_To DENNIS._] but, for others' sakes, don't mention names. I wish to hide nothing now, on my own account; though the money that was put down for me, before you would afford me shelter, I thought might have given me a little more title to hear a private message. _Mrs. Brul._ I've a character, for virtue, to lose, young woman. _Dennis._ When that's gone, you'll get another--that's of a damn'd impertinent landlady. Sure, she has a right to her parlour; and hav'n't I brought her cash enough to swallow up the Red Cow's rent for these two years? _Mrs. Brul._ Have you!--Well, though the young lady misunderstands me, it's always my endeavour to be respectful to gentlefolks. _Dennis._ Och, botheration to the respect that's bought, by knocking one shilling against another, at an inn! Let the heart keep open house, I say; and if charity is not seated inside of it, like a beautiful barmaid, it's all a humbug to stick up the sign of the christian. _Mrs. Brul._ I'm sure Miss shall have any thing she likes, poor dear thing! There's one chicken-- _Dennis._ A chicken!--Fie on your double barbarity! Would you murder the tough dunghill cock, to choke a customer?--A certain person, that shall be nameless, will come to you in the course of this day, either by himself, or by friend, or by handwriting. _Mary._ And not one word--not one, by letter, now? _Dennis._ Be asey--won't he be here soon? In the mean time, here's nineteen guineas, and a seven shilling piece, as a bit of a postscript. _Mrs. Brul._ Nineteen guineas and---- _Dennis._ Hold your gab, woman.--Count them, darling!-- [_Putting them on the Table--MARY counts the Money._ _Mrs. Brul._ [_Drawing DENNIS aside._] What have you done with the rest? _Dennis._ The rest! _Mrs. Brul._ Why, have you given her all? _Dennis._ I'll tell you what, Mrs. Brulgruddery; it's my notion, in summing up your last accounts, that, when you begin to dot, ould Nick will carry one; and that's yourself, my lambkin. _Shuff._ [_Without._] Holo? Red Cow! _Dennis._ You are call'd, Mrs. Brulgruddery. _Mrs. Brul._ I, you Irish bear!--Go, and [_Looking towards the window._]--Jimminy! a traveller on horseback! and the handsomest gentleman I ever saw in my life. [_Runs out._ _Mary._ Oh, then it must be he! _Dennis._ No, 'faith, it isn't the young squire. _Mary._ [_Mournfully._] No! _Dennis._ There--he's got off the outside of his horse: it's that flashy spark I saw crossing the court yard, at the big house.--Here he is. _Enter TOM SHUFFLETON._ _Shuff._ [_Looking at MARY._] Devilish good-looking girl, upon my soul! [_Sees DENNIS._] Who's that fellow? _Dennis._ Welcome to Muckslush Heath, sir. _Shuff._ Pray, sir, have you any business, here?