“go, let him have a table by himself!

for he does neither affect company,

nor is he fit for’t, indeed.”

in spite of the incontestable success of my decorations, which drew forth the admiration of even the superior henrietta o’neill, i felt, before we had arrived at the period of fish, that the dinner-party was likely to be a failure.

uncle dominick had, of course, taken in the elder miss o’neill, and as far as they were concerned nothing was left to be desired. conversation of a fluent and{178} high-class order was evidently her strong point. she at once entered upon a discussion of irish politics with my uncle in a manner deserving of all praise, and as i surreptitiously studied her pale, plain, intellectual face, with the dark hair severely drawn back, and heard her enunciate her opinions in clearly framed sentences, i became deeply conscious of my own general inferiority.

nevertheless, i did what in me lay to talk to nugent o’neill, who had taken me in, thus leaving to willy the necessary and, as i thought, congenial task of entertaining miss connie. nothing could apparently be better arranged. nugent had exchanged his frigid, uninterested civility of the day before for an excellent semblance of sociability, beneath which, as it seemed to me, he concealed a curious observation of all that i said. he had{179} a dark clever face, with strong well-cut features, and blue eyes, with a pleasanter expression in them than i had at first expected to see there. his voice would have been monotonous in its quietness and unexcitability had it not been for a certain humorous, semi-american turn which he occasionally imparted to his sentences. he annoyed me, but at the same time he was interesting; moreover—which was to me a very strong point in his favour—he was evidently as much alive as i to the fact that for the next hour and a half it would be our solemn duty to amuse each other, and to that intent we both performed prodigies of agreeability.

but willy was the cause of disaster. i became gradually aware that silence was settling down upon him and connie, and that, instead of devoting himself to her, he, with his eyes fixed on me and my partner,{180} was listening moodily to what we were saying. when this had gone on for some minutes, during which connie crumbled her bread and looked cross, i was exasperated to the point of bestowing a glance upon him calculated to awaken in him a sense of his bad manners. far, however, from accepting my reproof, willy returned my look with a gaze of admiring defiance, and projected himself into our conversation by flatly contradicting what nugent was saying. the latter rose many degrees in my estimation by ignoring the interruption till he had reached the end of his sentence. then, with a tolerating smile, he looked past me to willy, and asked him what he had said.

willy’s dark eyebrows met in a way that unpleasantly reminded me of his father.

“if it wasn’t worth listening to, it’s not worth repeating,” he said aggressively.{181}

terrified by the turn things were taking, i struck in quickly, “oh, willy! have you told miss o’neill what you heard to-day about the jackson-crolys giving a ball?”

“no; i thought she’d have heard it herself,” he returned ungraciously.

“as it happens, i had heard nothing about it,” said connie, from the other side of the table; “but i cannot say that i feel much excited at the prospect of one of their dances.”

“i am looking forward to it immensely,” i said, persevering with my topic. “i want very much to see a real irish ball.”

“yes,” said nugent, reflectively; “you will see that to great perfection at the jackson-crolys’. they excel in old irish hospitality. they do that kind of thing in quite the traditional way. little croly offers you whiskey the moment you get{182} into the hall; and, though you may not believe it, mrs. jackson-croly orders champagne to be put into all the carriages when people are coming away. the guests are generally pretty happy by that time, and she says it is to keep their hearts up on the way home.”

“that’s quite true,” observed connie; “and, as well as i remember, you were not at all above drinking it next day.”

“do they dance jigs at these entertainments?” i asked. “if so, i am afraid i shall be rather out of it.”

“oh yes,” said willy, with what was intended to be biting sarcasm; “and horn-pipes and highland flings. they always do at irish dances.”

“nonsense, willy! they don’t really, do they, mr. o’neill?”

“it is always well to be prepared for emergencies,” he answered, “so i should{183} advise you to have some lessons from willy. i have been told that step-dancing is his strongest suit.”

“who told you that?” demanded willy.

“one of our men was at mccarthy’s wedding the other day, and said he saw you there.”

“oh yes,” supplemented connie. “he said, ‘the sight would lave your eyes to see mr. sarsfield and that little gerr’l of owld michael brian’s taking the flure, and they so souple and so springy.’”

willy did not appear to be at all amused by this flattering opinion, or by the admirable accent in which it was repeated. on the contrary, he looked rather disconcerted, and, with a glance towards the other end of the table, he said awkwardly—

“oh, one has to do these sort of things now and then. the people like it, and it doesn’t do me any harm.{184}”

“on the contrary,” said nugent, “i am sure it is a most healthy exercise. but i thought it rather spoiled your leg for a top-boot.”

willy was known to favour knee-breeches as being especially becoming to him, and at this, to my great relief, he turned his back upon us, and plunged into an ostentatiously engrossing conversation with connie. at last we were in smooth water, and with almost a sigh of relief i heard nugent take up the thread of our discourse at the point where willy had broken it off.

it was evident that he could be pleasant enough when he chose; and though i felt that this new development was almost as offensive in another way as his deliberate dullness yesterday, i was now very grateful for its timely help. at the same time, i bore in mind with resentment my unremunerated toil during our ride, and{185} reflected bitterly on the fact that people who only talk when it pleases them, receive far more credit when they do so than those who from a sense of duty exhaust themselves conversationally.

uncle dominick and henrietta had up to this not caused me a moment’s anxiety. we were now at dessert, and yet the flow of their discourse had never flagged. in fact, my uncle seemed at present to be delivering a species of harangue, to which henrietta was attending with a polite unconvinced smile. this was all as it should be, and my respect for henrietta’s social gifts increased tenfold. unfortunately, however, it soon became evident that the discussion, whatever it was, was taking rather too personal a tone, and my uncle’s voice became so loud and overbearing that nugent and i were constrained to listen to him.{186}

“you amaze me,” he was saying. “i cannot believe that any sane person can honestly hold such absurd theories. what! do you mean to tell me that one of my tenants, a creature whose forefathers have lived for centuries in ignorance and degradation, is my equal?”

“his degradation is merely the result of injustice,” said miss o’neill, coolly adjusting her pince-nez.

“i deny it,” said my uncle, loudly. his usually pale face was flushed, and his eyes burned. “but that is not the point. what i maintain is that any fusion of classes such as you advocate, would have the effect of debarring the upper while it entirely failed to raise the lower orders. if you were to marry your coachman, as, according to your theories of equality, i suppose you would not hesitate to do, do you think these latent instincts of refine{187}ment that you talk about would make him a fit companion for you and your family? you know as well as i do that such an idea is preposterous. it is absurd to suppose that the natural arrangement of things can be tampered with. this is a subject on which i feel very strongly, and it shocks me to hear a young lady in your position advance such opinions!”

henrietta’s face assumed an aggravating expression, clearly conveying her opinion that further argument would be thrown away. uncle dominick gulped down a glass of wine, and glared round the table. there was a general silence, and i took advantage of it to make a move to the drawing-room.

i was wholly taken aback by my uncle’s violence, and could not help fearing that the number of times his glass had been replenished had had something to say to it.{188} willy’s temper had also been so uncertain that i dreaded an outbreak between him and his father, and, in the interval of waiting for their reappearance, i found myself making the most absent and ill-chosen answers to henrietta’s questions upon the culture and political status of american women, while i listened anxiously for the sound of the opening of the dining-room door. my only consolation was, that nugent would, for his own sake, do his best to keep the peace, and i was surprised to find how much i relied on his powers of doing so.

in my preoccupied state of mind, it is not to be wondered at that henrietta soon appeared to come to the conclusion that i was incapable of giving her any information on the subjects in which she was interested, and that i was generally a person of limited abilities. she leaned back in her chair{189} with the exhausted air of one who relinquishes a hopeless task, and, taking up a photograph-book, she tacitly made me over to her sister.

connie’s ideas ran in less exalted grooves. the run of the day before was to her a topic of inexhaustible interest; and when she found that my humility in the matter of hunting equalled my ignorance, she expanded into extreme graciousness, and was soon in the full tide of narration. the story-teller who treats of hunting with any real enthusiasm generally loses all mental perspective, and sacrifices artistic unity to historical accuracy. then, as now, i was amazed at the powers of memory and merciless fidelity to detail with which those who have taken part in a run can afterwards describe it, and i listened with reverence befitting the neophyte to connie’s adventures by flood and field.{190} foxes and fences, hounds and hunters, were revolving in my brain, when the opening of the door brought the story to a conclusion, and willy came into the room, followed by nugent. he marched directly to the sofa where i was sitting, and deposited himself beside me with such determination that the rebound of its springs almost lifted me into the air.

this behaviour was really intolerable. willy had not before shown any very pronounced partiality for me, and why he should have selected this evening for a demonstration of affection it would be hard to say. one thing was clear: it must be suppressed with a strong hand, or a dead-lock would ensue. nugent was standing on the hearthrug, with apparently no prospect of entertainment before him save what he could derive from talking to his sisters; while those two young ladies were{191} well aware that no reasonable hostess could ask them to dinner and expect them to devote their evening to conversing with their brother, and, pending action on my part, were sitting in expectant silence. i turned upon willy in desperation.

“you must talk to them,” i hissed in his ear.

to which, with equal emphasis, he whispered back, “i won’t!” fixing upon me a blandly stubborn gaze that infuriated me beyond the bounds of endurance.

i leaped from my seat, and, with a timely recollection of nugent’s violin, i walked over to him and asked if he had remembered to bring it. he admitted apologetically that it was in the hall, adding, with unexpected modesty, that he had only brought it because i had asked him to do so. i had some acquaintance with the ways of amateur violinists, and speedily{192} recognized the diffidence which conceals a yearning to play at all hazards. my intention to dislike him was softened by the discovery that he was not at all points so superior as i had believed, and i was pleased to notice some hurry and trepidation in his manner while he was tuning his violin. henrietta advanced upon the piano with an air of sisterly resignation, and, concealing a yawn, tapped a note for nugent to tune by.

while he was thus engaged, i cast an anxious eye round the room. my uncle had now come in, and, with his elbow on the chimney-piece, was looking into the fire. connie had taken possession of the ancient photograph-book which her sister had put down, and, in company with willy, was silently and methodically turning over its yellow pages. well did i know its contents. ladies in preposterously{193} inflated skirts, with rows of black velvet round the tail; and gentlemen clad from head to heel in decent black, each with his back to an italian landscape, and his tall hat on a grecian pedestal near him—all alike undistinguishable and unknown. i felt sincerely for connie; but other occupation there was none, and i had done my best on her behalf.

i was at first inclined to agree with nugent in his own estimate of his playing, and i saw with unworthy amusement that he was extremely nervous; but as he went on he steadied down, and played with considerable sweetness and delicacy. the keen notes vibrated in the dim, lofty room, and tingling in the many hanging crystals of the old glass chandelier. i forgot the indignation which he had yesterday aroused in me, and remained leaning on the piano, conscious only of the pleasure i was re{194}ceiving, until the player ceased, and began to unscrew his bow preparatory to putting it away.

“please play something else,” i said hastily. “won’t you try this suite of corelli’s? i know it so well.”

“i am afraid my sister doesn’t know the accompaniment,” he answered, with a dubious look at henrietta, who was rising from the piano.

her bored manner had already told me that she looked on accompanying her brother as a task beneath her powers, and the thought struck me with paralyzing conviction that i ought to have asked her to play a solo. however, this was not the moment to rectify the error; nugent was lingering over the putting away of his violin, with an obvious desire to play again.

{195}

“i suppose it would be too much to ask you to try it?” he said to me, after another glance at henrietta’s unresponsive face.

“perhaps if it was not very difficult i might be able——” i said, and checked myself, remembering the snub i had received on that very subject.

but now that i had admitted so much, nugent held me to my word, and firmly proceeded to arrange the piano part on the desk for me.

“i don’t envy you, miss sarsfield,” remarked henrietta, with a cold little laugh; “nugent’s ideas of counting are excessively primitive.”

decidedly henrietta was annoyed.

“i am the class of savage who cannot count more than five,” he replied, addressing me; “but i do my best.”

miss o’neill laughed again. “you will have to play it for him,” she said, moving{196} away from the piano; “nugent is a regular bully.”

i scarcely liked being coerced in this way, but i yielded; and we played the piece i had asked for, as well as several others, before i remembered my duties as hostess. willy had forsaken connie and the photograph-book, and had again left her and henrietta to talk to each other, while he propped himself against the chimney-piece, and gazed moodily at nugent and me.

i could not have believed that he would have left me in this dastardly way to bear the burden and heat of the entertainment, and i made a second effort to keep things going by begging miss o’neill to play. but this time i was unsuccessful; she would not be propitiated. a look passed between her and her sister, whose banjo i now had little doubt had been secreted in{197} the hall; while i, in violation of all the laws of civility, had myself been monopolizing the piano. they both got up from their places.

“i should have been delighted,” said henrietta, “but i am afraid it is getting rather late. my dear nugent”—calling to her brother, who was carefully swaddling his violin preparatory to putting it away—“we really ought to be getting home. the carriage must have been waiting some time; and i am sure”—in a lower voice—“that mr. sarsfield has had quite enough of us.”

i looked at my uncle, who during the violin-playing had sunk into an armchair, and had shaded his eyes with his hand, as if listening attentively. he had not moved since we stopped, and looked almost as if he were asleep; but there was something in his attitude that conveyed the{198} idea of deep dejection rather than of slumber.

the general stir of departure roused him. he rose slowly, and said good night with a little more than his usual sombreness.