LITMIR.BIZ

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nonsense, soft, vapid, and unmeaning as their own brains, as they helped themselves to ham or dived into the pasty; while a young dragoon, who seemed to devote his attention to Mrs. Rodney’s companion, amused himself by constant endeavours to stroke down a growing moustache, whose downy whiteness resembled nothing that I know of save the ill-omened fur one sees on an antiquated apple-pie.

      As I looked on every side to catch a glance at him whom I should suppose to Mr. Rooney, I was myself detected by the watchful eye of Bob Dwyer, who, at that moment having his mouth full of three hard eggs, was nearly asphyxiated in his endeavours to telegraph my approach to Mrs. Paul.

      “The edge-du-cong, by the mortial!” said he, sputtering out the words, as his bloodshot eyes nearly bolted out of his head.

      Had I been a Bengal tiger, my advent might have caused less alarm. The officers not knowing if the Duke himself were coming, wiped their lips, resumed their caps and chakos, and sprang to the ground in dismay and confusion: as Mrs. Rooney herself, with an adroitness an Indian juggler might have envied, plunged the fork, drumstick and all, into the recesses of her muff; while with a back hand she decanted the XX upon a bald major of infantry, who was brushing the crumbs from his facings. One individual alone seemed to relish and enjoy the discomfiture of the others: this was the young lady whom I before remarked, and whose whole air and appearance seemed strangely at variance with everything around her. She gave free current to her mirth; while Mrs. Paul, now suddenly restored to a sense of her nervous constitution, fell back in her carriage, and appeared bent upon a scene.

      “You caught us enjoying ourselves, Mr. Stilton?”

      “Hinton, if you’ll allow me, madam.”

      “Ay, to be sure – Mr. Hinton. Taking a little snack, which I am sure you’d be the better for after the fatigues of the day.”

      “Eh, au au! a devilish good luncheon,” chimed in a pale sub, the first who ventured to pluck up his courage.

      “Would a sandwich tempt you, with a glass of champagne?” said Mrs. Paul, with the blandest of smiles.

      “I can recommend the lamb, sir,” said a voice behind.

      “Begad, I’ll vouch for the porter,” said the Major. “I only hope it is a good cosmetic.”

      “It is a beautiful thing for the hair,” said Mrs. Rooney, half venturing upon a joke.

      “No more on that head, ma’am,” said the little Major, bowing pompously.

      By this time, thanks to the assiduous attentions of Bob Dwyer, I was presented with a plate, which, had I been an anaconda instead of an aide-decamp, might have satisfied my appetite. A place was made for me in the carriage; and the faithful Bob, converting the skirt of his principal blue into a glass-cloth, polished a wine-glass for my private use.

      “Let me introduce my young friend, Mr. Hinton,” said Mrs. Paul, with a graceful wave of her jewelled hand towards her companion. “Miss Louisa Bellew, only daughter of Sir Simon Bellew, of – ” what the place was I could not well hear, but it sounded confoundedly like Killhiman-smotherum – “a beautiful place in the county Mayo. Bob, is it punch you are giving?”

      “Most excellent, I assure you, Mrs. Rooney.”

      “And how is the Duke, sir? I hope his Grace enjoys good health. He is a darling of a man.”

      By-the-by, it is perfectly absurd the sympathy your third or fourth-rate people feel in the health and habits of those above them in station, pleased as they are to learn the most common-place and worthless trifles concerning them, and happy when, by any chance, some accidental similitude would seem to exist even between their misfortunes.

      “And the dear Duchess,” resumed Mrs. Rooney, “she’s troubled with the nerves like myself. Ah! Mr. Hinton, what an affliction it is to have a sensitive nature; that’s what I often say to my sweet young friend here. It’s better for her to be the gay, giddy, thoughtless, happy thing she is, than – ” Here the lady sighed, wiped her eyes, flourished her cambric, and tried to look like Agnes in the “Bleeding Nun.” “But here they come. You don’t know Mr. Rooney? Allow me to introduce him to you.”

      As she spoke, O’Grady cantered up to the carriage, accompanied by a short, pursy, round-faced little man, who, with his hat set knowingly on one side, and his top-boots scarce reaching to the middle of the leg, bestrode a sharp, strong-boned hackney, with cropped ears and short tail. He carried in his hand a hunting-whip, and seemed, by his seat in the saddle and the easy finger upon the bridle, no indifferent horseman.

      “Mr. Rooney,” said the lady, drawing herself up with a certain austerity of manner, “I wish you to make the acquaintance of Mr. Hinton, the aide-de-camp to his Grace.”

      Mr. Rooney lifted his hat straight above his head, and replaced it a little more obliquely than before over his right eye.

      “Delighted, upon my honour – faith, quite charmed – hope you got something to eat – there never was such a murthering hot day – Bob Dwyer, open a bottle of port – the Captain is famished.”

      “I say, Hinton,” called out O’Grady, “you forgot the Duke, it seems; he told me you’d gone in search of some sherry, or something of the kind; but I can readily conceive how easily a man may forget himself in such a position as yours.”

      Here Mrs. Paul dropped her head in deep confusion, Miss Bellew looked saucy, and I, for the first time remembering what brought me there, was perfectly overwhelmed with shame at my carelessness.

      “Never mind, boy, don’t fret about it, his Grace is the most forgiving man in the world; and when he knows where you were – ”

      “Ah, Captain!” sighed Mrs. Rooney.

      “Master Phil, it’s yourself can do it,” murmured Paul, who perfectly appreciated O’Grady’s powers of “blarney,” when exercised on the susceptible temperament of his fair spouse.

      “I’ll take a sandwich,” continued the Captain. “Do you know, Mrs. Rooney, I’ve been riding about this half-hour to catch my young friend, and introduce him to you; and here I find him comfortably installed, without my aid or assistance. The fact is, these English fellows have a nattering, insinuating way of their own there’s no coming up to. Isn’t that so, Miss Bellew?”

      “Very likely,” said the young lady, who now spoke for the first time; “but it is so very well concealed that I for one could never detect it.”

      This speech, uttered with a certain pert and saucy air, nettled mc for the moment; but as no reply occurred to me, I could only look at the speaker a tacit acknowledgment of her sarcasm; while I remembered, for the first time, that, although seated opposite my very attractive neighbour, I had hitherto not addressed to her a single phrase of even common-place attention.

      “I suppose you put up in the Castle, sir?” said Mr. Rooney.

      “Yes, two doors lower down than Mount O’Grady,” replied the Captain for me. “But come, Hinton, the carriages are moving, we must get back as quick as we can. Good-by, Paul Adieu, Mrs. Rooney, Miss Bellew, good morning.”

      It was just at the moment when I had summoned up my courage to address Miss Bellew, that O’Grady called me away: there was nothing for it, however, but to make my adieus; while, extricating myself from the débris of the luncheon, I once more mounted my horse, and joined the viceregal party as they drove from the ground.

      “I’m delighted you know the Rooneys,” said O’Grady, as we drove along; “they are by far the best fun going. Paul good, but his wife superb!”

      “And the young lady?” said I.

      “Oh, a different kind of thing altogether. By-the-by, Hinton, you took my hint, I hope, about your English manner?”

      “Eh – why – how – what did you mean?”

      “Simply, my boy, that your Coppermine-river kind of courtesy may be a devilish fine thing in Hyde Park or St. James’s, but will never do with us poor people here. Put more warmth into it, man. Dash the lemonade with a little maraschino; you’ll feel twice as comfortable yourself,

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