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.