His poorest subaltern was richer than he in the wherewithal to bid for such prizes.

‘What is her name in addition to Merion?’

‘Diana Antonia Merion.  Tony to me, Diana to the world.’

‘She lives over there?’

’In England, or anywhere; wherever she is taken in.  She will live, I hope, chiefly with me.’

‘And honest Irish?’

‘Oh, she’s Irish.’

‘Ah!’ the General was Irish to the heels that night.

Before further could be said the fair object of the dialogue came darting on a trip of little runs, both hands out, all her face one tender sparkle of a smile; and her cry proved the quality of her blood:  ’Emmy!  Emmy! my heart!’

’My dear Tony!

I should not have come but for the hope of seeing you here.’

Lord Larrian rose and received a hurried acknowledgement of his courtesy from the usurper of his place.

’Emmy! we might kiss and hug; we’re in Ireland.  I burn to!  But you’re not still ill, dear?  Say no!  That Indian fever must have gone.  You do look a dash pale, my own; you’re tired.’

‘One dance has tired me.  Why were you so late?’

’To give the others a chance?  To produce a greater impression by suspense?  No and no.  I wrote you I was with the Pettigrews.  We caught the coach, we caught the boat, we were only two hours late for the Ball; so we did wonders.  And good Mrs. Pettigrew is, pining somewhere to complete her adornment.  I was in the crush, spying for Emmy, when Mr. Mayor informed me it was the duty of every Irishwoman to dance her toes off, if she ’d be known for what she is.  And twirl! a man had me by the waist, and I dying to find you.’

‘Who was the man?’

‘Not to save these limbs from the lighted stake could I tell you!’

‘You are to perform a ceremonious bow to Lord Larrian.’

‘Chatter first! a little!’

The plea for chatter was disregarded.  It was visible that the hero of the night hung listening and in expectation.  He and the Beauty were named to one another, and they chatted through a quadrille.  Sir Lukin introduced a fellow-Harrovian of old days, Mr. Thomas Redworth, to his wife.

‘Our weather-prophet, meteorologist,’ he remarked, to set them going; ’you remember, in India, my pointing to you his name in a newspaper—­ letter on the subject.  He was generally safe for the cricketing days.’

Lady Dunstane kindly appeared to call it to mind, and she led upon the them-queried at times by an abrupt ‘Eh?’ and ‘I beg pardon,’ for manifestly his gaze and one of his ears, if not the pair, were given to the young lady discoursing with Lord Larrian.  Beauty is rare; luckily is it rare, or, judging from its effect on men, and the very stoutest of them, our world would be internally more distracted planet than we see, to the perversion of business, courtesy, rights of property, and the rest.  She perceived an incipient victim, of the hundreds she anticipated, and she very tolerantly talked on:  ’The weather and women have some resemblance they say.  Is it true that he who reads the one can read the other?’