And indeed and I am, your honor. It's the brave
boy he is; and why wouldn't he be, brought up on your honor's
estate and with you before his eyes for a pattern of the finest
soldier in Ireland. Come and kiss your old mother, Dinny darlint.
[O'Flaherty does so sheepishly.) That's my own darling boy. And
look at your fine new uniform stained already with the eggs
you've been eating and the porter you've been drinking. [She
takes out her handkerchief: spits on it: and scrubs his lapel
with it.] Oh, it's the untidy slovenly one you always were.
There! It won't be seen on the khaki: it's not like the old red
coat that would show up everything that dribbled down on it. [To
Sir Pearce.] And they tell me down at the lodge that her ladyship
is staying in London, and that Miss Agnes is to be married to a
fine young nobleman. Oh, it's your honor that is the lucky and
happy father! It will be bad news for many of the young gentlemen
of the quality round here, sir. There's lots thought she was
going to marry young Master Lawless
SIR PEARCE. What! That--that--that bosthoon!
MRS O'FLAHERTY [hilariously].
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