"Dear Mark, those good-looking eyes of yours told me of your love, long, long before your lazy tongue."
"Love," interrupted Mark, endeavoring to put in a demurrer.
"To be sure," said she, "I saw it, I knew it and well;" she continued, seeing he was about to speak. "When do you mean to talk to Aunty? You know my fifty pounds are in her hands." She was an heiress, was Bridget.
"Pounds! Aunty! yes, to be sure," replied Mark, perfectly bewildered, "but I thought Ned Riley was"----
"Peggy's sweetheart--well, we all know that," interrupted Bridget, inly enjoying the consternation that painted Mark's cheek a livid white. "And you to be so jealous of Riley," she went on, "not to dance with me last night; I knew the reason, but the jealousy that springs from love is soon forgot, so I forgot yours."
"To be sure, don't you know they are going to be married?"
"No!" vacantly replied the sorely bewildered Mark.
"Oh, yes! and now I want to tell you a pet plan of mine, if you don't think me too bold, Mark, and that is, how nice and cozy it would be, if we could only all be married on the same day."
This was too much for Mark; he couldn't endure it any longer; he started up, pushed his hat very far on his head, saying, in what he intended to be a most severe tone:
"Miss O'Conner, I don't know what could have put such an idea into your head. Marry, indeed! I've enough to do to take care of myself. No, I'm sorry to wound _your_ feelings, but I shall never marry!"
"Oh! yes, you will," said Bridget, placing her arm in his, which he disengaged, saying bitterly:
"Nonsense, I'll bet you will, and, if it was only to humor me, Mark, on the very same day that Peggy is!"
"Bridget, I didn't think I could hate a woman as I'm beginning to hate you."
"Better before marriage than after, Mr. Mark. Come, I'll bet you a new Sunday coat, against a calico gown, and that's long odds in your favor, that what I've said will come true."
"What it's worth, Mr. Mark--just nothing at all."
"True for you, now, Bridget; true for you," and Mark suddenly quitted the house in such real sorrow that it touched for a moment even Bridget's heart; but only for a moment. Pshaw! thought she, let him fret; it will do him good, and make the joy greater when he comes to know the truth. A hunt would be nothing without hedges and ditches. Proceeding to the window, she uttered an exclamation of surprise.