Violet’s thin face contracted.  She had introduced a subject that might prevent him from ever proposing to her.  She knew how heavily the Kilcarney estates were mortgaged; and, even now, as she rightly conjectured, the poor little man was inwardly trembling at the folly it had been on his lips to speak.  Three of his immediate ancestors had married penniless girls, and it was well known that another love-match would precipitate the property over that precipice known to every Irish landowner—­the Encumbered Estates Court.  But those dainty temples, so finely shaded with light brown tresses, that delicately moulded head—­delicate as an Indian carven ivory, dispelled all thoughts of his property, and he forgot his duty to marry an heiress.  Violet meanwhile, prompted by her instinct, said the right words: 

‘But things never turn out as well or as badly as we expect them to.’

This facile philosophy went like wine to the little Marquis’s head, and he longed to throw himself at the feet of his goddess and thank her for the balm she had poured upon him.  The gloom of approaching ruin disappeared, and he saw nothing in the world but a white tulle skirt, a thin foot, a thin bosom, and a pair of bright grey eyes.  Vaguely he sought for equivalent words, but loud-talking dancers passed into the room, and, abashed by their stares, the Marquis broke off a flowering branch and said, stammering the while incoherently: 

‘Will you keep this in memory of this evening?’

Violet thrust the flowers into her bosom, and was about to thank him, when an A.D.C. came up and claimed her for the dance.  She told him he was mistaken, that she was engaged; and, taking Lord Kilcarney’s arm, they made their way in silence back to the ball-room.  Violet was satisfied; she felt now very sure of her Marquis, and, as they approached Mrs. Scully, a quick glance said that things were going as satisfactorily as could be desired.  Not daring to trust herself to the gossip of the chaperons, this excellent lady sat apart, maintaining the solitary dignity to which the Galway counter had accustomed her.  She received the Marquis with the same smile as she used to bestow on her best customers, and they talked for a few minutes of the different aspects of the ball-room, of their friends, of things that did not interest them.  Then Violet said winsomely, affecting an accent of command that enchanted him: 

’Now I want you to go and dance with someone else; let me see—­what do you say to Olive Barton?  If you don’t, I shall be in her mother’s black books for the rest of my life.  Now go.  We shall be at home to-morrow; you might come in for tea;’ and, suffocated with secret joy, Lord Kilcarney made his way across the room to Mrs. Barton, who foolishly cancelled a couple of Olive’s engagements, and sent her off to dance with him, whereas wise Violet sat by her mother, refusing all her partners; but, when God Save the Queen was played, she accepted Lord Kilcarney’s arm, and they pressed forward to see the Lord-Lieutenant and Her Excellency pass down the room.