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_ ACT II - SCENE IV
The Garden of the Widow LARKEN'S Cottage.
OWEN and MABEL.
Owen.
How does my mother bear the disappointment, Mabel about the inn?
Mabel.
Then to outward appearance she did not take it so much to heart as I expected she would. But I'm sure she frets inwardly--because she had been in such hopes, and in such spirits, and so proud to think how well her children would all be settled.
Owen.
Oh, how sorry I am I told her in that hurry the good news I heard, and all to disappoint her afterwards, and break her heart with it!
Mabel.
No, she has too good a heart to break for the likes. She'll hold up again after the first disappointment--she'll struggle on for our sakes, Owen.
Owen.
She will: but Mabel dearest, what do you think of Gilbert?
Mabel.
(turning away)
I strive not to think of him at all.
Owen.
But sure I was not wrong there--he told me as much as that he loved you.
Mabel.
Then he never told me that much.
Owen.
No! What, not when he walked with you to the well?
Mabel.
No. What made you think he did?
Owen.
Why, the words he said about you when he met me, was--where's your sister Mabel? Gone to the well, Gilbert, says I. And do you think a man that has a question to ask her might make bold to step after her? says he. Such a man as you--why not? says I. Then he stood still, and twirled a rose he held in his hand, and he said nothing, and I no more, till he stooped down, and from the grass where we stood pulled a sprig of clover. Is not this what you call shamrock? says he. It is, says I. Then he puts the shamrock along with the rose--How would that do? says he.
Mabel.
Did he say that, Owen?
Owen.
Yes, or how would they look together? or, would they do together? or some words that way; I can't be particular to the word--you know, he speaks different from us; but that surely was the sense; and I minded too, he blushed up to the roots, and I pitied him, and answered--
Mabel.
Oh, what did you answer?
Owen.
I answered and said, I thought they'd do very well together;
and that it was good when the Irish shamrock and the English rose was united.
Mabel.
(hiding her face with her hands)
Oh, Owen, that was too plain.
Owen.
Plain! Not at all--it was not.
It's only your tenderness makes you feel it too plain
--for, listen to me, Mabel.
(Taking her hand from her face.)
Sure, if it had any meaning particular, it's as strong for Miss Gallagher as for any body else.
Mabel.
That's true:--and may be it was that way he took it,
--and may be it was her he was thinking of--
Owen.
When he asked me for you? But I'll not mislead you--I'll say nothing;
for it was a shame he did not speak out, after all the encouragement he got from me.
Mabel.
Then did he get encouragement from you?
Owen.
That is--(smiling)--taking it the other way, he might understand it so, if he had any conscience. Come now, Mabel, when he went to the well, what did he say to you? for I am sure he said something.
Mabel.
Then he said nothing
--but just put the rose and shamrock into my hand.
Owen.
Oh! did he?--And what did you say?
Mabel.
I said nothing.--What could I say?
Owen.
I wish I'd been with you, Mabel.
Mabel.
I'm glad you were not, Owen.
Owen.
Well, what did he say next?
Mabel.
I tell you he said nothing,
but cleared his throat and hemmed, as he does often.
Owen.
What, all the way to the well and back,
nothing but hem, and clear his throat?
Mabel.
Nothing in life.
Owen.
Why, then, the man's a fool or a rogue.
Mabel.
Oh, don't say that, any way. But there's my mother coming in from the field.
How weak she walks! I must go in to bear her company spinning.
Owen.
And I'll be in by the time I've settled all here.
[Exit MABEL.]
OWEN, solus.
Oh! I know how keenly Mabel feels all, tho' she speaks so mild. Then I'm cut to the heart by this behaviour of Gilbert's:--sure he could not be so cruel to be jesting with her!--he's an Englishman, and may be he thinks no harm to jilt an Irishwoman. But I'll show him--but then if he never asked her the question, how can we say any thing?--Oh! the thing is, he's a snug man, and money's at the bottom of all,--and since Christy's to have the new inn, and Miss Gallagher has the money!--Well, it's all over, and I don't know what will become of me.
[Enter Mr. ANDREW HOPE.]
Mr. H.
My gude lad, may your name be Larken?
Owen.
It is, sir--Owen Larken, at your service--the son of the widow Larken.
Mrs. H.
Then I have to thank your family for their goodness to my puir brother, years ago. And for yourself, your friend, Mr. Christy Gallagher, has been telling me you can play the bugle?
Owen.
I can, sir.
Mr. H.
And we want a bugle, and the pay's fifteen guineas; and I'd sooner give it to you than three others that has applied, if you'll list.
Owen.
Fifteen guineas! Oh! if I could send that money home to my mother! but I must ask her consint. Sir, she lives convanient, just in this cabin here--would you be pleased to step in with me, and I'll ask her consint.
Mr. H.
That's right,--lead on, my douce lad--you ken the way.
[Exeunt.] _
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