VI

Arthur, who rarely dined out, handed the ladies into the carriage.

Mrs. Barton was beautifully dressed in black satin; Olive was lost in a mass of tulle; Alice wore a black silk trimmed with passementerie and red ribbons.  Behind the Clare mountains the pale transitory colours of the hour faded, and the women, their bodies and their thoughts swayed together by the motion of the vehicle, listened to the irritating barking of the cottage-dog.  Surlily a peasant, returning from his work, his frieze coat swung over one shoulder, stepped aside.  A bare-legged woman, surrounded by her half-naked children, leaving the potato she was peeling in front of her door, gazed, like her husband, after the rolling vision of elegance that went by her, and her obtuse brain probably summed up the implacable decrees of Destiny in the phrase: 

‘Shure there misht be a gathering at the big house this evening.’

‘But tell me, mamma,’ said Olive, after a long silence, ’how much champagne ought I to drink at dinner?  You know, it is a long time since I have tasted it.  Indeed, I don’t remember that I ever did taste it.’

Mrs. Barton laughed softly: 

’Well, my dear, I don’t think that two glasses could do you any harm; but I would not advise you to drink any more.’

’And what shall I say to the man who takes me down to dinner?  Shall I have to begin the conversation, or will he?’

’He will be sure to say something; you need not trouble yourself about that.  I think we shall meet some nice men to-night.  Captain Hibbert will be there.  He is very handsome and well-connected.  I hope he will take you down.  Then there will be the Honourable Mr. Burke.  He is a nice little man, but there’s not much in him, and he hasn’t a penny.  His brother is Lord Kilcarney, a confirmed bachelor.  Then there will be Mr. Adair; he is very well off.  He has at least four thousand a year in the country; but it would seem that he doesn’t care for women.  He is very clever; he writes pamphlets.  He used to sympathize with the Land League, but the outrages went against his conscience.  You never know what he really does think.  He admires Gladstone, and Gladstone says he can’t do without him.’

They had now passed the lodge-gates, and were driving through the park.  Herds of fallow deer moved away, but the broad bluff forms of the red deer gazed steadfastly as lions from the crest of a hill.

‘Did you ever meet Lady Dungory, mamma?’ asked Alice.  ‘Is she dead?’

’No, dear, she is not dead; but it would be better, perhaps, if she were.  She behaved very badly.  Lord Dungory had to get a separation.  No one ever speaks of her now.  Mind, you are warned!’

At this moment the carriage stopped before a modern house, built between two massive Irish towers entirely covered with huge ivy.

‘I am afraid we are a little late,’ said Mrs. Barton to the servant, as he relieved them of their sorties de bal.