Mrs.Flood Jones was living modestly at Killaloe on her widow's jointure,--Floodborough having, to tell the truth, pretty nearly fallen into absolute ruin,--and with her one daughter, Mary.
Now on the evening before the return of Phineas Finn, Esq., M.P., to London, Mrs.and Miss Flood Jones drank tea at the doctor's house.
"It won't make a bit of change in him," Barbara Finn said to her friend Mary, up in some bedroom privacy before the tea-drinking ceremonies had altogether commenced.
"Oh, it must," said Mary.
"I tell you it won't, my dear; he is so good and so true." "I know he is good, Barbara; and as for truth, there is no question about it, because he has never said a word to me that he might not say to any girl." "That's nonsense, Mary." "He never has, then, as sure as the blessed Virgin watches over us;--only you don't believe she does." "Never mind about the Virgin now, Mary." "But he never has.

Your brother is nothing to me, Barbara." "Then I hope he will be before the evening is over.

He was walking with you all yesterday and the day before." "Why shouldn't he,--and we that have known each other all our lives?
But, Barbara, pray, pray never say a word of this to any one!" "Is it I?
Wouldn't I cut out my tongue first ?" "I don't know why I let you talk to me in this way.

There has never been anything between me and Phineas,--your brother I mean." "I know whom you mean very well." "And I feel quite sure that there never will be.

Why should there?
He'll go out among great people and be a great man; and I've already found out that there's a certain Lady Laura Standish whom he admires very much." "Lady Laura Fiddlestick!" "A man in Parliament, you know, may look up to anybody," said Miss Mary Flood Jones.
"I want Phin to look up to you, my dear." "That wouldn't be looking up.