‘Dan Merion died, I remember, about the day of my sailing for India,’ said the General.  ‘She may be his daughter.’

The bright cynosure rounded up to him in the web of the waltz, with her dark eyes for Lady Dunstane, and vanished again among the twisting columns.

He made his way, handsomely bumped by an apologetic pair, to Lady Dunstane, beside whom a seat was vacated for him; and he trusted she had not over-fatigued herself.

‘Confess,’ she replied, ’you are perishing to know more than Lukin has been able to tell you.  Let me hear that you admire her:  it pleases me; and you shall hear what will please you as much, I promise you, General.’

‘I do.  Who wouldn’t?’ said he frankly.

’She crossed the Channel expressly to dance here tonight at the public Ball in honour of you.’

’Where she appears, the first person falls to second rank, and accepts it humbly.’

‘That is grandly spoken.’

‘She makes everything in the room dust round a blazing jewel.’

’She makes a poet of a soldier.  Well, that you may understand how pleased I am, she is my dearest friend, though she is younger than I, as may be seen; she is the only friend I have.  I nursed her when she was an infant; my father and Mr. Dan Merion were chums.  We were parted by my marriage and the voyage to India.  We have not yet exchanged a syllable:  she was snapped up, of course, the moment she entered the room.  I knew she would be a taking girl:  how lovely, I did not guess.  You are right, she extinguishes the others.  She used to be the sprightliest of living creatures, and to judge by her letters, that has not faded.  She ’s in the market, General.’

Lord Larrian nodded to everything he heard, concluding with a mock doleful shake of the head.  ‘My poorest subaltern!’ he sighed, in the theatrical but cordially melancholy style of green age viewing Cytherea’s market.

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.’