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.
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