She put the machine into my hands:  it was about the size of the lid of a shaving-box:  and I should as soon have thought of wearing it as of wearing a cocked-hat and pigtail.  I was so disgusted and disappointed that I really could not get out a single word.

When I recovered my presence of mind a little, I took the locket out of the bit of paper (the locket indeed! it was as big as a barndoor padlock), and slowly put it into my shirt.  “Thank you, Aunt,” said I, with admirable raillery.  “I shall always value this present for the sake of you, who gave it me; and it will recall to me my uncle, and my thirteen aunts in Ireland.”

“I don’t want you to wear it in that way!” shrieked Mrs. Hoggarty, “with the hair of those odious carroty women.  You must have their hair removed.”

“Then the locket will be spoiled, Aunt.”

“Well, sir, never mind the locket; have it set afresh.”

“Or suppose,” said I, “I put aside the setting altogether:  it is a little too large for the present fashion; and have the portrait of my uncle framed and placed over my chimney-piece, next to yours.  It’s a sweet miniature.”

“That miniature,” said Mrs. Hoggarty, solemnly, “was the great Mulcahy’s chef-d’oeuvre” (pronounced shy dewver, a favourite word of my aunt’s; being, with the words bongtong and ally mode de Parry, the extent of her French vocabulary).  “You know the dreadful story of that poor poor artist.  When he had finished that wonderful likeness for the late Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty, county Mayo, she wore it in her bosom at the Lord Lieutenant’s ball, where she played a game of piquet with the Commander-in-Chief.  What could have made her put the hair of her vulgar daughters round Mick’s portrait, I can’t think; but so it was, as you see it this day.  ‘Madam,’ says the Commander-in-Chief, ’if that is not my friend Mick Hoggarty, I’m a Dutchman!’ Those were his Lordship’s very words.  Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty took off the brooch and showed it to him.

“‘Who is the artist?’ says my Lord.  ’It’s the most wonderful likeness I ever saw in my life!’

“‘Mulcahy,’ says she, ‘of Ormond’s Quay.’

“‘Begad, I patronise him!’ says my Lord; but presently his face darkened, and he gave back the picture with a dissatisfied air.  ’There is one fault in that portrait,’ said his Lordship, who was a rigid disciplinarian; ’and I wonder that my friend Mick, as a military man, should have overlooked it.’

“‘What’s that?’ says Mrs. Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty.

“‘Madam, he has been painted without his Sword-Belt!’ And he took up the cards again in a passion, and finished the game without saying a single word.