and she must pray. For herself and for Cregan. Dinny! She had wished him dead.
Mrs. Byrne tugged at her cape. "Whist! Whist! What 's come over yuh, woman? What is it?"
"It 's Dinny!"
That was all that could be had out of her. Even when she reached her home again, and Mrs. Byrne followed her in, afraid of leaving the frightened woman alone lest she "blab" the whole secret to the first person she met,—even then Mrs. Cregan could not speak until she had gathered up the broken dishes and propped the broken chair against the wall, as frantically as if she were trying to conceal the evidence of a crime. Then she sank down on a sofa and burst into tears. "The poor creature!" she wept. "The poor ol' man!"
Mrs. Byrne folded her arms. "Mary Cregan," she said, in hoarse disgust, "when yuh 've done makin' a fool o' yerself, I 'll trouble yuh to listen to me. Now! If y' ever breathe a word o' this to Cregan, he 'll laugh himself blind! Mind yuh that! He 'll not believe yuh. No one 'll believe yuh. No one! An' if yuh don't want somethin' turrible to happen, yuh 'll say nothin', but yuh 'll behave yerself like a decent married woman an' go to church an' say yer prayers against trouble. That woman with the cards says whatever th' old Nick puts into her head to say."
Mrs. Cregan cried: "She saw it in me hand!"
Mrs. Byrne drew herself up like a prophetess. "Dip yer hand in holy water, an' yuh 'll hear no more of it. Now, then. Behave yerself."
