An Irish Cousin: (Vol. 2 of 2)

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AN IRISH COUSIN.

BY

GEILLES HERRING AND MARTIN ROSS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. II.

LONDON:

RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,

Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.

1889.

( All rights reserved.)

CONTENTS.

AN IRISH COUSIN.

CHAPTER IV. MYROSS CHURCHYARD.

PART II.

THE COST OF IT.

( Continued.)

CHAPTER II.

SUPPER EXTRAS.

"All night has the casement jessamine stirred

To the dancers dancing in tune."

"Must you go?

That cousin here again? He waits outside?"

We were at supper. The chaperons had at length completed their well-earned repast, and had returned, flushed and loquacious, to the dancing-room, yielding their places to the hungry throng who had been waiting outside the door.

The last waltz had been played by Miss Sissie Croly, in good time and with considerable spirit, an act of coquettish self-abnegation which elicited many tender reproaches from her forsaken partner. Making the most of the temporary improvement in the music, Nugent and I had danced without stopping, until a series of sensational flourishes announced that the end of the waltz was at hand. After it was over, he had suggested supper, and we had secured a small table at the end of the supper-room, from which, in comparative quiet, we could view the doings of the rest of the company. I was guiltily conscious of the large W scrawled across the supper extras on my card; but a latent rebellion against my cousin’s unauthorized appropriation conspired with a distinct desire for food to harden my heart. I made up my mind to do what seemed good to me about one at least of the extras, and dismissed for the present all further thought of Willy and his possible grievances.

I found myself possessed of an excellent appetite. Nugent’s invention as a caterer soared above the usual chicken and jelly, and we both made what, in the land of my birth, would be described as a square meal.

Meanwhile, the centre table was surrounded by what looked like a convivial party of lunatics. Miss Burke and Dr. Kelly had set the example of decorating themselves with the coloured paper caps contained in the crackers, and the other guests had instantly adopted the idea. Mob-caps, night-caps, fools’-caps, and sun-bonnets nodded in nightmare array round the table, Miss Burke’s long red face showing to great advantage beneath a pale-blue, tissue-paper tall hat.

I feel I have been very remiss in not offering to pull a cracker with you, said Nugent, but I am afraid they have all been used up by this time!

Why did I not go in to supper with Dr. Kelly? I said regretfully. If the worst came to the worst, I am sure he would have taken off his own sun-bonnet and put it on my head!

Go in with him next time, suggested Nugent. He always goes in to supper two or three times, and works his way each time down the table like a mowing-machine, leaving nothing behind him. At the masonic ball in Cork he was heard saying to his sisters, as they were going in to supper, ‘Stuff, ye divils! there’s ice! ’

Quite right, too, I said, beginning upon the tipsy cake which Nugent had looted for our private consumption. I always make a point of stuffing when there is ice. However, I think on the whole I have had enough of Dr. Kelly for one evening. I have danced once with him, and I suppose it is because he is at least a foot shorter than I am that he makes himself about half his height when he is dancing with me. But I think all small men do that; the taller their partner, the more they bend their knees.

Nugent laughed. I have been watching you dancing with all sorts and conditions of men, and wondering what you thought of them. I also wondered if you would find them sufficiently amusing to induce you to stay on till No. 18? he said, putting his elbows on the table and looking questioningly at me.

Oh, I hope so—at least—of course, that depends on your mother, I answered.

Should you care to stay? As in that case I think I could manage to square my mother.

It would be better not to bother her about it, perhaps—of course, it might be very pleasant to stay, I answered confusedly.

The way in which he had asked the question had given me a strange sensation for a moment.

I dare say it is not any argument, but I shall be very sorry if you go.

I went on with the buttoning of my gloves without answering.

For one reason, I should like you to see what it gets like towards the end.

Nugent’s eyes were fixed on mine across the intervening woodcock and tipsy cake with more inquiry than seemed necessary, but as he finished speaking a little troop of men came in together for a supplementary supper, and I forgot everything but my own guilty conscience, as among them I saw Willy. It was, however, evident that he had not come with any gluttonous intent, for, after a cursory look round the room over people’s heads, he walked out.

Did you see Willy? I said, in a scared whisper.

Yes, perfectly. He was probably looking for you.

Oh, I know he was! I said, beginning to gather up my fan and other belongings. I ought to go at once. I am engaged to him for the extras.

Are you afraid of Willy? returned Nugent, without taking his elbows off the table, or making any move.

No, of course I’m not. But I don’t like to throw him over.

Oh, I see! he said, still without moving, and regarding me with an aggravating amusement.

"Well, I am going——" I began, when a hand was laid on my arm.

I am delighted to hear it, said Connie’s voice, as we want this table. Get up, Nugent, and give me your chair. Nothing would induce me to sit at that bear-garden—indicating the larger table. What do you think I heard Miss Donovan say to that little Beamish man—English Tommy—as I was making my way up here? ‘Now, captain, if you say that again, I’ll pelt my plate of jelly at you!’ And I haven’t the least doubt that at this moment his shirt-front is covered with it.

Oh, all right, said Nugent, slowly getting up, you can have this table; we were just going. Miss Sarsfield is very anxious to find Willy. She says she is going to dance all the extras with him.

Then she is rather late, replied Connie, unconcernedly. "Captain Forster, go at once and get me some game-pie. Don’t tell me there’s none; I couldn’t bear it. Well, my dear, she continued, perhaps you are not aware that the extras are all over, and No. 12 is going on now?"

Have you seen Willy anywhere? I asked, feeling rather than seeing the sisterly eye of facetious insinuation that Connie directed at her brother. I am engaged to him for No. 12.

At this moment he is dancing with Miss Dennehy, answered Connie, but I know he has been looking for you. He has prowled in and out of the conservatory twenty times.

He was in here too, said Nugent; and I think he saw you, he added, as we walked into the hall. What would you like to do now? Willy has evidently thrown you over, and I expect my partner has consoled herself. I think the safest plan is to hide somewhere till this is over, and, as 13 is ours, we can then emerge, and dance it with blameless composure.

The doors of the conservatory at the end of the hall stood invitingly open, and a cool, fragrant waft of perfume came through them. Without further deliberation, we mutely accepted their invitation, and finding, by the dim, parti-coloured light of Chinese lanterns, that two armchairs had been placed at the further end, we immediately took possession of them.

Occasionally rest is vouchsafed even to the wicked, said Nugent, leaning back, and picking up my fan, which I had laid on the floor, and beginning lazily to examine it. "Looking at a ball in the abstract, I think it involves great weariness and vexation of spirit. Out of twenty-four dances, there are at most four or five that one really looks forward to. You are going to stay for No. 18, you know, he added quietly. I shall settle that with the Madam."

Give me my fan, please, I said, taking no notice of this assertion. I can see you know just the right way to break it.

He sat up, and, instead of returning it, began slowly to fan me. There was a brief silence. The rain pattered down on the glass overhead. We could just hear the music, and the measured stamping of the dancers’ feet.

Do you know, he said suddenly, you are curiously different from what I expected you to be.

Why? Had you formed any definite idea about me?

Not in the least. That was what threw me so out of my reckoning. I thought I knew pretty well, in a general way, what you were going to be like; but somehow you have made me reconstruct all my notions.

If you had only told me in time, I should have tried to be less inconsiderate. It is so painful to have to give up one’s ideas.

I did not find it so, he said seriously; on the contrary. I wonder—continuing to flap my big black fan to and fro—if you ever had a kind of latent ideal—a sort of thing which seems so impossible that you never try to form any very concrete theory about it? I suppose it very seldom happens to a man to find that an idea he has only dreamt about is a real thing after all. Can you imagine what an effect it would have upon him when he found that he had unexpectedly met his—well, his ideal?

He folded up the fan, and looked down at me, waiting for an answer.

I should imagine he would think himself very clever, I said, feeling rather nervous.

No, not clever, I don’t think, so much as fortunate; that is to say—he drew a short breath—"of course the ideal may have ideas of her—of its