Margaret Cameron

“ For answer he merely smiled at her, meeting her indignant gaze with steady eyes, full of amused but unwavering purpose. "Sure, I can scream—an' I will!" she threatened.
"To be sure you can," was the pleasant response, "but you won't. If you do, I shall yell and wave my arms, and people will think we're the chauffeur and the second-girl, somewhat intoxicated and out for a joy-ride. ”

“ You are going to cook that dinner."
"'Dade, an' I'm not! What manner o' man are ye, annyhow? Stop the car! Let me out o' this!"
"Not at all. Now, don't be frightened, Molly, or foolish. Nobody's going to hurt you. Nothing's going to happen—except that you are going to cook that dinner." ”

“ I wonder if she is? You don't happen to know of an available and competent cook, do you, Molly?"
"Cook?"
"Mrs. Dinsmore's woman received a telegram at noon saying her father had been hurt and was dying, and she's gone; and unless we can find somebody to take her place, there won't be any dinner. That's what I've been chasing—a cook."
"An' y' ain't got anny?" she half whispered, wide-eyed.
"I neglected to supply myself with salt," he dryly returned.
"Faith, 'tis little salt wud avail ye wid a cook, they're that familiar wid it! Have ye tried the village?"
"There's nobody to be had there." ”

“ You mustn't cook—"
"A-ah! Scairt, are ye?" jeered his captive, softly. "Oh, be a sport, Mr. Tro-owbridge! Play the game! Play the game!" With this she disappeared, and he meandered back to the front veranda, kicking the gravel as he went.
The Fletcher party arrived late, and most of the other guests were assembled when they descended to the drawing-room. Some one spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher in the hall, detaining them a moment; but Miss Powell, apparently not noticing the interruption, kept on alone. ”

“ Ye've had yer joke—an' I'm not denyin' 'tis a good wan. Let me go now, sor, back to me young lady. Sure, ye said ye'd take me home."
"Mrs. Dinsmore's is home to me, at present."
"An' is that what ye mint? An' yersilf a gintleman! Faith, 'tis little better than a lie!"
"You suggested this yourself, Molly," he challenged. "Now be a sport and play the game."
"No, sor, av ye plaze," roguishly again. "I may have mintioned that ye might kidnap a cook, but I said nothin' at all, at all, about a lady's-maid." ”

“ Here is a lady with a lot of guests coming to dinner—"
"An' two bist sillers!"
"And two best sellers."
"Only wan o' thim 'll not be there!"
"Neither of them will be there—nobody will be there—there won't be any dinner, unless you help us out."
"Ah, 'tis hilp ye' re talkin' now, is it? Hilp ye, indade! An' me picked out o' the road like a fish out o' the river, widout so much as 'By yer lave!' Hilp ye, is it? Huh!"
"But you will, Molly. You're far too nice a girl to let a lot of people be disappointed just for lack of a little consideration from you. ”

“ Tro-owbridge, party or no party."
"I hope so," he replied, going to crank the machine. "I should like nothing better." As he slipped into his place beside her he glanced at her embroidered linen gown, asking casually: "Dressed up a bit, aren't you, Molly? There is a young man somewhere, then?"
"Ah, sure, there's no lack o' lads, Mr. Tro-owbridge, av I chose to notice thim."
"But you don't?"
"Sure, I do not! As fer the driss, 'twas Miss Pow'll's last summer."
"Oh, she gives you her old dresses, does she?"
"Sure, 'tis wan o' the purquisites o' me position," she loftily replied. ”

“ Thin they'll ate out o' yer hand."
"Humph! Is there anything that will have that effect on a woman, Molly?"
"An' is it a woman ye're after? Ah, that's another pair o' shoes intirely! Sure, 'tis not fer the likes o' me to be tellin' a fine gintleman how to do that!"
"Probably you know a lot more about it than I do, Molly. How's Miss Powell?"
"That ye'll soon be seein' fer yersilf, Mr. Tro-owbridge." Her slight drawl always subtly emphasized his name. "She do be goin' to the dinner-party." ”

“ Dinsmore's now, and I heard him say this morning that he had never met Miss Powell."
"Aha! So that's the milk in the cocoanut!" she cried. "Mrs. Dinsmore's got a bist siller stayin' wid her, an' Mrs. Fletcher, not to be outdone, betrays the fact that she's got wan too. An' the nixt move is a dinner-party to get the two o' thim together!" ”

“ Unless, of course," with a little flickering smile, "you are afraid to try anything so important."
"I'm afraid o' nothin'," came the quick retort, "but ye know quite well I have me young lady to driss."
"Can't she dress herself—once?"
"Sure, av she was goin' as a fri'nd, she cud do fer hersilf, but since she doesn't even know Mrs. Dinsmore, an' 'tis as a bist siller she's ast, she'll be wantin' expert attintion. An, by the same token, I'd better be gettin' on, Mr. Tro-owbridge. She'll be nadin' me."
"But unless you cook it there won't be any dinner. Don't forget that, Molly." ”

“ John Stuart Mill says there are 'no other limits to hypotheses than those of the human imagination,' and as this case lies clear outside all ordinary boundaries, perhaps it can best be presented in hypothesis. ”

“ She meditatively poked the dust with her toe for a moment, and then looked up at him with a daring glint. "'Tis a pity min has no invintion nowadays."
"Invention?"
"Av ye was wan o' thim knights yer friend Mr. Forbes Myrick writes so much about, ye wudn't be wastin' time like this, Mr. Tro-owbridge. Ye'd go forth an' raid a castle, an' bear away the cook ye want on yer prancin' steed. Sure, no gintleman o' thim times wud disapp'int a lady fer a mere matter of assault an' batthery." ”

“ An', by the same token, I'm the only maid she iver had. Sure, 'tis only mesilf can do annything to plaze her, even to the washin' of her blooses." She glanced back at the clothes- lines. "We suit wan another per-fect-ly."
"That's fortunate, isn't it?" He was smiling again now. "But Miss Powell is tired, you say? Particularly of men?"
"Ah!" Again the gesture. "An' most particularly o' thim that writes." She stole a mischievous, upward glance at him. "'Molly,' says she to me, 'Molly, do ye niver marry a scribblin' man,' says she. ”

“ Just as you say, of course. I'm sorry." He turned half way, and then added, as if by an afterthought: "Get in. I'll take you home."
"Ah, sure, ye're very kind, sor, but 'tis not fer the likes o' me to be ridin' in ottimobiles."
"Except sometimes with the chauffeur, eh, Molly?"
"Faith," tossing her head again, "I lave him to Norah, the sicond-girrl. 'Tis not William Hogan n'r the like of him I'd be wastin' me time wid! ”

“ Hot or cold, rain or shine, 'tis all wan to her. She must be walkin' some part o' the day. An' this mornin' says she to me, I'm off fer a long walk, Molly,' says she. Thim was her very worrds. 'I'm off fer a long walk,' says she. An' Mrs. Fletcher tuk Mary an' the baby wid her, an' Annie's away sick, an' 'tis Norah's day off, an' so I'm here by mesilf intirely. ”

“ Nevertheless, with a little defiant toss of her head, she went on. "'Iv'rything that cud pos-si-bly happen—along wid most o' thim that cudn't,' says she, 'has been done up in a book, at a dollar eight,' says she, 'so what's the use o' botherin' wid it in rale life at all, at all?'"
"I'm afraid Miss Powell is a pessimist," he suggested.
"A pessi— What's that?"
"A pessimist, Molly, is a person who sits in a flood of bright moonlight and insists that it emanates from a chunk of green cheese."
"Ah, sure, 'tis a pity ye're not a writer yersilf, Mr. Tro-owbridge. That sounds like a book." ”

“ That's all right!" He took a long breath of exaggerated relief, and she made a little movement as if to step past him. "No, not yet," he said. She looked up, to meet the intent, humorous, purposeful gaze she had encountered before ”