At the close, however, when he came to the part which Reilly had borne in the matter, and dwelt at more length on his intrepidity and spirit, and the energy of character and courage with which the quelled the terrible Rapparee, he was obliged to stop for a moment, and say, "Why, Helen, what is the matter, my darling?
Are you getting ill again?
Your little heart is going at a gallop--bless me, how it pit-a-pats.
There, now, you've heard it all--here I am, safe--and there stands the gentleman to whom, under God, we are both indebted for it.

And now let us have dinner, darling, for we have not dined ?" Apologies on the part of Reilly, who really had dined, were flung to the winds by the old squire.
"What matter, Willy?
what matter, man ?--sit at the table, pick something--curse it, we won't eat you.

Your dress?
never mind your dress.

I am sure Helen here will not find fault with it.

Come, Helen, use your influence, love.