"That I will," and he patted Polly's hand.
"The man as gits Polly'll git a treasure." Polly blushed, after the helpless, touching fashion of very young creatures: the blood stained her cheeks, mounted to her forehead, spread in a warm wave over neck and ears.

To spare her, Mahony turned his head and looked out of the window.

He would have liked to say: Run away, child, run away, and don't let them see your confusion.

Polly, however, went conscientiously about her task, and only left the room when she had picked up her full complement of plates .-- But she did not appear again that night.
Deserted even by Mrs.Beamish, the two men pushed back their chairs from the table and drew tranquilly at their pipes.
The innkeeper proved an odd, misty sort of fellow, exceedingly backward at declaring himself; it was as though each of his heavy words had to be fetched from a distance.

"No doubt about it, it's the wife that wears the breeches," was Mahony's inward comment.