_Pat._ Why, then, to the best of my opinion, I seen Honor McBride just now giving Randal Rooney the meeting behind the chapel; and I seen him putting a ring on her finger. _Catty._ (_clasping her hands_) Oh, murder!--Oh! the unnat’ral monsters that love makes of these young men; and the traitor, to use me so, when he promised he’d never make a stolen match unknown’st to me. _Pat._ Oh, ma’am, I don’t say--I wouldn’t swear--it’s a match yet. _Catty._ Then I’ll run down and stop it--and catch ‘em. _Pat._ You haven’t your jock on, ma’am--(_she turns towards the house_)--and it’s no use--for you won’t catch ‘em: I seen them after, turning the back way into Nick Flaherty’s. _Catty._ Nick Flaherty’s, the publican’s? oh, the sinners! And this is the saint that Honor McBride would be passing herself upon us for? And all the edication she got at Mrs. Carver’s Sunday school! Oh, this comes of being better than one’s neighbours! A fine thing to tell Mrs. Carver, the English lady, that’s so nice, and so partial to Miss Honor McBride! Oh, I’ll expose her! _Pat._ Oh! sure, Mrs. Rooney, you promised you’d not tell, (_Standing so as to stop CATTY._) _Catty._ Is it who told me? No--I won’t mintion a sintence of your name. But let me by--I won’t be put off now I’ve got the scent. I’ll hunt ‘em out, and drag her to shame, if they’re above ground, or my name’s not Catty Rooney! Mick! Mick! little Mick! (_calling at the cottage door_) bring my blue _jock_ up the road after me to Ballynavogue. Don’t let me count three till you’re after me, or I’ll bleed ye! (_Exit CATTY, shaking her closed hand, and repeating_) I’ll expose Honor McBride--I’ll expose Honor! I will, by the blessing! _Pat._ (_alone_) Now, if Randal Rooney would hear, he’d make a jelly of me, and how I’d trimble; or the brother, if he comed across me, and knewed. But they’ll niver know. Oh, Catty won’t say a sintence of my name, was she carded! No, Catty’s a scould, but has a conscience. Then I like conscience in them I have to dale with sartainly. [_Exit._ SCENE V. _Mrs. CARVER’S Dressing-room, HONOR McBRIDE and MISS BLOOMSBURY discovered._ _Honor._ How _will_ I know, Miss Bloomsbury, when it will be twelve o’clock? _Bloom._ You’ll hear the clock strike: but I suspect you’se don’t understand the clock yet--well, you’ll hear the workmen’s bell. _Honor._ I know, ma’am, oh, I know, true--only I was flurried, so I forgot. _Bloom._ Flurried! but never be flurried. Now mind and keep your head upon your shoulders, while I tell you all your duty--you’ll just ready this here room, your lady’s dressing-room; not a partical of dust let me never find, petticlarly behind the vindor shuts. _Honor._ Vindor shuts!--where, ma’am? _Bloom._ The _shuts_ of the _vindors_--did you never hear of a vindor, child? _Honor._ Never, ma’am.