Lady O’Hara looked across at her sleeping husband with no little severity in her glance. He was stretched in a chair beneath a giant oak, and she was busied with some needlework a few paces from him. O’Hara’s eyes were shut and his mouth open. My lady frowned and coughed. She rasped her throat quite considerably, but it was not without effect; her spouse shut his mouth and opened one lazy eyelid. Immediately my lady assumed an air of gentle mournfulness, and the eye regarding her twinkled a little, threatening to close. Molly looked reproachful, and began to speak in an aggrieved tone:
“Indeed, and I do not think it at all kind in you to go to sleep when I want to talk, sir.”
O’Hara hastily opened the other eye.
“Why, my love, I was not asleep! I was—er—thinking!”
“Do you say so, sir? And do you usually think with your mouth open—snoring?”
O’Hara started up.
“I’ll swear I did not snore!” he cried. “Molly, ’tis a wicked tease ye are!”
“Miles, ’tis a big baby you are!” she mimicked. “There is a caterpillar on your wig, and ’tis on crooked.”
“The caterpillar?” asked O’Hara, bewildered.
“No, stupid, the wig. I had best straighten it for you, I suppose.” She rose and stooped over him, settling the wig and removing the caterpillar by means of two leaves, judiciously wielded. Then she dropped
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