_Honor._ Oh! don’t be calling him names, Phil: stiff he is, more than close--and any way, Phil dear, he’s the father still--and ould, consider. _Phil._ He is,--and I’m fond enough of him, too, would he only give me the price of a horse. But no matter--spite of him I’ll have my swing the day, and it’s I that will tear away with a good horse under me and a good whip over him in a capital style, up and down the street of Ballynavogue, for you, Miss Car’line Flaherty! I know who I’ll go to, this minute--a man I’ll engage will lend me the loan of his bay gelding; and that’s Counshillor Gerald O’Blaney. [_Going, HONOR stops him._ _Honor._ Gerald O’Blaney! Oh, brother!--Mercy!--Don’t! any thing rather than that-- _Phil._ (_impatiently_) Why, then, Honor? _Honor._ (_aside_) If I’d tell him, there’d be mischief. (_Aloud._) Only--I wouldn’t wish you under a compliment to one I’ve no opinion of. _Phil._ Phoo! you’ve taken a prejudice. What is there again Counshillor O’Blaney? _Honor._ _Counshillor!_ First place, why do you call him _counshillor_? he never was a raal counshillor sure--nor jantleman at all. _Phil._ Oh! counshillor by courtesy--he was an attorney once--just as we _doctor_ the apotecary. _Honor._ But, Phil, was not there something of this man’s being dismissed the courts for too sharp practice? _Phil._ But that was long ago, if it ever was. There’s sacrets in all families to be forgotten--bad to be raking the past. I never knew you so sharp on a neighbour, Honor, before:--what ails ye? _Honor._ (_sighing_) I can’t tell ye. [_Still holding him._ _Phil._ Let me go, then!--Nonsense!--the boys of Ballynavogue will be wondering, and Miss Car’line most. [_Exit, singing,_ “Oh the boys of Ball’navogue.” _HONOR, alone._ _Honor._ Oh, Phil! I _could_ not tell it you; but did you but know how _that_ Gerald O’Blaney insulted your shister with his vile proposhals, you’d no more ask the loan of his horse!--and I in dread, whenever I’d be left in the house alone, that that bad man would boult in upon me--and Randal to find him! and Randal’s like gunpowder when his heart’s touched!--and if Randal should come _by himself_, worse again! Honor, where would be your resolution to forbid him your presence? Then there’s but one way to be right--I’ll lave home entirely. Down, proud stomach! You must go to service, Honor McBride. There’s Mrs. Carver, kind-hearted lady, is wanting a girl--she’s English, and nice; may be I’d not be good enough; but I can but try, and do my best; any thing to plase the father. [_Exit HONOR._ SCENE II. _O’BLANEY’S Counting-house._ _GERALD O’BLANEY alone at a desk covered with Papers._