"Did you now?" said she, "and is it about Julia Elizabeth you came
over? Well, well, well, just to think of it! But I guessed it long
ago, when you bought the yellow boots. She's a real good girl, Mr.
O'Grady. There's many and many's the young man, and they in good
positions, mind you--but maybe you don't mean that at all. Is it a
message from your Aunt Jane or your mother? Your Aunt Jane does send
messages, God help her!"
"It's not, Mrs. O'Reilly: it's, if I may presume to say so, about
myself."
"I knew it," was the rapid and enthusiastic reply. "She's a fine cook,
Mr. O'Grady, and a head of hair that reaches down to her waist, and won
prizes at school for composition. I'll call himself--he'll be
delighted. He's in the next room making faces at a map. Maps are a
terrible occupation, Mr. O'Grady, they spoil his eyesight and make him
curse----"