The Real Charlotte. 3 



audience on the charms of a young man who had on that 

 day partaken of an early dinner at her Uncle Fitzpatrick's 

 house. 



Francie's accent and mode of expressing herself were 

 alike deplorable ; Dublin had done its worst for her in that 

 respect, but unless the reader has some slight previous 

 notion of how dreadful a thing is a pure-bred Dublin accent, 

 it would be impossible for him to realise in any degree the 

 tone in which she said : 



*' But oh ! Tommy Whitty ! wait till I tell you what he 

 said about the excursion ! He said he'd come to it if I'd 

 promise to stay with him the whole day ; so now, see how 

 grand I'll be ! And he has a Jong black mustash ! " she 

 concluded, as a side thrust at Tommy's smooth, apple 

 cheeks. 



" Oh, indeed, I'm sure he's a bewty without paint," re- 

 turned the slighted Tommy, with such sarcasm as he could 

 muster ; " but unless you come in the van with me, the way 

 you said you would, I'll take me ring back from you and 

 give it to Lizzie Jemmison ! So now ! " 



" Much I care ! " said Francie, tossing her long golden 

 plait of hair, and giving a defiant skip as she walked ; " and 

 what's more, I can't get it off, and nobody will till I die ! 

 and so now yourself ! " 



Her left hand was dangling over Fanny Hemphill's 

 shoulder, and she thrust it forward, starfish-wise, in front of 

 Tommy Whitty's face. The silver ring glittered sumptu- 

 ously on its background of crimson silk glove, and the sud- 

 den snatch that her swain made at it was as much impelled 

 by an unworthy desire to repossess the treasure as by the 

 pangs of wounded affection. 



" G'long, ye dirty fella' ! " screamed Francie, in high 

 good-humour, at the same moment eluding the snatch and 

 whirling herself free from the winding embrace of the 

 Misses Hemphill and Brennan ; " I dare ye to take it from 

 me!" 



She was off like a lapwing down the deserted street, pur- 

 sued by the more cumbrous Tommy, and by the encourag- 

 ing yells of the children, who were trooping along the 

 pavement after them. Francie was lithe and swift beyond 

 her fellows, and on ordinary occasions Tommy Whitty, with 



