_Bloom._ (_pointing to a window_) Don’t tell me! why, your head is a wool-gathering! Now, mind me, pray--see here, always you put that there,--and this here, and that upon that,--and this upon this, and this under that,--and that under this--you can remember that much, child, I supposes? _Honor._ I’ll do my endeavour, ma’am, to remember all. _Bloom._ But mind, now, my good girl, you takes _petticlar_ care of this here pyramint of japanned china--and _very_ petticlar care of that there great joss--and the _very most petticularest_ care of this here right reverend Mandolin. (_Pointing to, and touching a Mandarin, so as to make it shake. HONOR starts back._) _Bloom._ It i’n’t alive. Silly child, to start at a Mandolin shaking his head and beard at you. But, oh! mercy, if there i’n’t enough to make him shake his head. Stand there!--stand here!--now don’t you see? _Honor._ _Which_, ma’am? _Bloom._ “_Which, ma’am!_” you’re no _witch_, indeed, if you don’t see a cobweb as long as my arm. Run, run, child, for the pope’s head. _Honor._ Pope’s head, ma’am? _Bloom._ Ay, the pope’s head, which you’ll find under the stairs. Well, a’n’t you gone? what do you stand there like a stuck pig, for?--Never see a pope’s head?--never ‘ear of a pope’s head? _Honor._ I’ve heard of one, ma’am--with the priest; but we are protestants. _Bloom._ Protestants! what’s that to do? I do protest, I believe that little head of yours is someway got wrong on your shoulders to-day. [_The clock strikes_--HONOR, _who is close to it, starts._ _Bloom._ Start again!--why, you’re all starts and fits. Never start, child! so ignoramus like! ‘tis only the clock in your ear,--twelve o’clock, hark!--The bell will ring now in a hurry. Then you goes in there to my lady--stay, you’ll never be able, I dare for to say, for to open the door without me; for I opine you are not much usen’d to brass locks in Hirish cabins--can’t be expected. See here, then! You turns the lock in your hand this’n ways--the lock, mind now; not the key nor the bolt for your life, child, else you’d bolt your lady in, and there’d be my lady in Lob’s pound, and there’d be a pretty kettle, of fish!--So you keep, if you can, all I said to you in your head, if possible--and you goes in there--and I goes out here. [_Exit BLOOMSBURY._ _Honor._ (curtsying) Thank ye, ma’am. Then all this time I’m sensible I’ve been behaving and looking little better than like a fool, or an _innocent._--But I hope I won’t be so bad when the lady shall speak to me. (_The bell rings._) Oh, the bell summons me in here.--(_Speaks with her hand on the lock of the door_) The lock’s asy enough--I hope I’ll take courage--(_sighs_)--Asier to spake before one nor two, any way--and asier tin times to the mistress than the maid. [_Exit HONOR._ ACT II. SCENE I. _GERALD O’BLANEY’S Counting-house._ _O’BLANEY alone._