SHAWN, in an imploring voice.
Let you not take it badly, mister honey; isn't beyond the best place for you, where you'll have golden chains and shiny coats and you riding upon hunters with the ladies of the land.
He makes an eager sign to the Widow Quin to come to help him.
WIDOW QUIN, coming over.
It's true for him, and you'd best quit off and not have that poor girl setting her mind on you, for there's Shaneen thinks she wouldn't suit you, though all is saying that she'll wed you now.
Christy beams with delight.
SHAWN, in terrified earnest.
She wouldn't suit you, and she with the divil's own temper the way you'd be strangling one another in a score of days. (He makes the movement of strangling with his hands.) It's the like of me only that she's fit for; a quiet simple fellow wouldn't raise a hand upon her if she scratched itself.
WIDOW QUIN, putting Shawn's hat on Christy.
Fit them clothes on you anyhow, young fellow, and he'd maybe loan them to you for the sports.
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