"You are mistaken, Michael," said another man. "It is not to Short Mary he is to be married, but to the Maid of the Liss here below. There are tailors and dressmakers at work there these three days, and as I was coming up this morning I saw the beggars gathering there already."
"Did anyone ever see the like of you all?" said a fourth man. "Were you at Mass on Sunday, Michael? If you were, it would be hard for you not to hear what was in everybody's mouth—that is, that Shiana was to be married on Tuesday next to Nora of the Causeway. And it was there the beggars were going, and not to the Liss. I'll bet that Shiana himself will say that I am right."
Shiana looked from one to another of them. The ugly look and the hostile stare were in his eyes. He was angry, but he crushed the anger down.
"Go away home, Dermot," said he, "and have sense. I have no notion of marrying, and I don't think I shall have, yet awhile."
He bent his head and went on with his work. Not another word was spoken. Dermot slipped out, feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself.
He arrived home.
"Well?" said Sive.
"Well, indeed!" said Dermot.
"What's the news?" said Sive.
"Queer news," said Dermot. "The whole country, for seven years from now, will be doing nothing but making fun of the two of us, of you and of me."
"Why, how is that?" said Sive.
"Because we have deserved it," said Dermot. And she failed to get any more talk out of him.
