Who?
MRS. GRANAHAN.
Now you"re the soft la.s.sie. Who"s the manager of the creamery up beyont?
ELLEN.
[Unsuspectingly,]
Tom Taylor of course.
MRS. GRANAHAN.
And of coorse it was Tom Taylor left ye home.
[Knock at the door.]
Come in. Come in.
[Taylor enters.]
Why speak o" the divil--how d"ye do Mr. Taylor.
TAYLOR.
[He comes in, stands rather awkwardly looking at Ellen, and then goes over near them.]
Very well, thank you, ma"am.
MRS. GRANAHAN.
This is my daughter Ellen.
[Slily.]
I think ye met her afore.
TAYLOR.
[Shaking hands with Ellen, he detains her hand for a second and then drops it.]
We did, I think, didn"t we?
MRS. GRANAHAN.
[Knowingly.]
I just thought as much.
[Aside.]
Oh well, he"s a brave body and would do rightly if the creamery does the same.
[Suddenly to Taylor.]
Are ye coortin" any this weather Mr. Taylor?
TAYLOR.
[Taken aback. Then decides to laugh it off.]
Well--eh--no. I"m not doin" much that way.
MRS. GRANAHAN.
[Incredulously.]
Oh indeed. Well I heerd otherwise. Its full time ye were lookin" about for a wife. You"ll be gettin" well on past thirty soon.
TAYLOR.
[Fidgeting uneasily.]
Oh I"m time enough for a couple of years or more. I want to look round me a bit.
MRS. GRANAHAN.
Well ye better look sharp, for you"ll soon be getting too ould for gettin" any sort of a dasint girl.
[Inquisitively.]
Ha"e ye anyone in your eye yet?
TAYLOR.
I have an account to pay your good man Mrs. Granahan.