"May be I do, may be I don't," replied Mrs. O'Toole, eyeing the speaker sharply, and with, what she considered, consummate caution. "Well," returned her interrogator, whom, it is needless to say, was the same individual whose insolence had so annoyed Kate, and whose really elegant appearance would have enlisted her in his favour, but for her prepossessions against him; "I presume you know your own residence; at all events I shall feel obliged to you if you will let me know the name of the young lady, whom you sometimes escort through Kensington Gardens? Of course, as the utterance of it will cause considerable wear and tear of your lungs, accept this remuneration." "What is it ye want with her name?" asked Mrs. O'Toole. "That cannot possibly concern you; tell it to me, and take this." "Keep yer money," replied Mrs. O'Toole, with supreme disdain, "divil another word, good nor bad, will ye get from me, till ye tell me what ye want her name for." "Ah," said the gentleman, musingly, "you seem so respectable a person, I have no objection to tell you, that having unfortunately offended the lady, by speaking to her in the Gardens, I am anxious this apology should reach her hand," and he showed a note he held, "will you be the bearer of it?" he continued, insinuatingly. "I'll tell ye what it is," returned nurse, firing up in spite of her determination to be cool and cautious, "I'll bear nayther yer notes nor yer impidince; I'd like to see the man, woman, or child that daur be carryin' notes for ye to Miss-- No matther," she continued, hastily checking herself, "it's not the likes iv ye, an oudacious chap, that daured to spake to yer betthers, widout, 'by yer lave or wid yer lave,' she'd so much as look at. Faith, if I see a sign iv ye about the place, to frighten me darlint, I'll just give ye up to the polis; I'll go bail it's the spoons ye'r more used to be lookin' afther than the ladies, though ye have a good coat on yer back, an' look as if it wasn't a stranger to ye." "My good woman," said the object of this tirade, with a half-surprised, half-amused air, as Mrs O'Toole paused for breath, "You are the most impracticable person I ever met; I do not understand you." "Well then, I'll spake plain enough for ye. If ye were a gintleman, ye'd niver have gone to spake to me darlin' young lady, in the way ye did, the other day--ye'd have known yer own sort, an' the differ betune a bit iv a dressmaker, and a raale lady; an' ye may look as fine, an' as proud as ye like, but I'll see ye yet, gettin' up stairs to the tune of Turn the Mill--so good-by te ye, an' ye may put yer note in the fire; but if I see ye about here, be this book," kissing her hand, "I'll give ye up to the polis, for a suspicious _characther_, that has his eye on the plate!" And off walked Mrs. O'Toole, glowing with triumph and honest indignation.