MARY DOUL. Let you not be making the like of that talk when you’ve heard Timmy the smith, and Mat Simon, and Patch Ruadh, and a power besides saying fine things of my face, and you know rightly it was “the beautiful dark woman” they did call me in Ballinatone. MARTIN DOUL. _as before._ — If it was itself I heard Molly Byrne saying at the fall of night it was little more than a fright you were. MARY DOUL. _sharply._ — She was jealous, God forgive her, because Timmy the smith was after praising my hair. MARTIN DOUL. _with mock irony._ — Jealous! MARY DOUL. Ay, jealous, Martin Doul; and if she wasn’t itself, the young and silly do be always making game of them that’s dark, and they’d think it a fine thing if they had us deceived, the way we wouldn’t know we were so fine-looking at all. [_She puts her hand to her face with a complacent gesture._] MARTIN DOUL. _a little plaintively._ — I do be thinking in the long nights it’d be a grand thing if we could see ourselves for one hour, or a minute itself, the way we’d know surely we were the finest man and the finest woman of the seven counties of the east (_bitterly_) and then the seeing rabble below might be destroying their souls telling bad lies, and we’d never heed a thing they’d say. MARY DOUL. If you weren’t a big fool you wouldn’t heed them this hour, Martin Doul, for they’re a bad lot those that have their sight, and they do have great joy, the time they do be seeing a grand thing, to let on they don’t see it at all, and to be telling fool’s lies, the like of what Molly Byrne was telling to yourself. MARTIN DOUL. If it’s lies she does be telling she’s a sweet, beautiful voice you’d never tire to be hearing, if it was only the pig she’d be calling, or crying out in the long grass, maybe after her hens. (_Speaking pensively._) It should be a fine, soft, rounded woman, I’m thinking, would have a voice the like of that. MARY DOUL. _sharply again, scandalized._ — Let you not be minding if it’s flat or rounded she is; for she’s a flighty, foolish woman, you’ll hear when you’re off a long way, and she making a great noise and laughing at the well. MARTIN DOUL. Isn’t laughing a nice thing the time a woman’s young? MARY DOUL. _bitterly._ — A nice thing is it? A nice thing to hear a woman making a loud braying laugh the like of that? Ah, she’s a great one for drawing the men, and you’ll hear Timmy himself, the time he does be sitting in his forge, getting mighty fussy if she’ll come walking from Grianan, the way you’ll hear his breath going, and he wringing his hands. MARTIN DOUL. _slightly piqued._ — I’ve heard him say a power of times it’s nothing at all she is when you see her at the side of you, and yet I never heard any man’s breath getting uneasy the time he’d be looking on yourself.