Charles O'Malley, The Irish Dragoon Volume I Part 24

I here blundered out my excuses. What I said, and what I did not say, I do not now remember; but certainly, it was her turn now to blush, and her arm trembled within mine as I led her to the top of the room. In the little opportunity which our quadrille presented for conversation, I could not help remarking that, after the surprise of her first meeting with me, Miss Dashwood's manner became gradually more and more reserved, and that there was an evident struggle between her wish to appear grateful for what had occurred, with a sense of the necessity of not incurring a greater degree of intimacy. Such was my impression, at least, and such the conclusion I drew from a certain quiet tone in her manner that went further to wound my feelings and mar my happiness than any other line of conduct towards me could possibly have effected.

Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her to a seat, when Sir George came hurriedly up, his face greatly flushed, and betraying every semblance of high excitement.

"Dear Papa, has anything occurred? Pray what is it?" inquired she.

He smiled faintly, and replied, "Nothing very serious, my dear, that I should alarm you in this way; but certainly, a more disagreeable _contretemps_ could scarcely occur."

"Do tell me: what can it be?"

"Read this," said he, presenting a very dirty-looking note which bore the mark of a red wafer most infernally plain upon its outside.

Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and after a moment's silence, instead of partic.i.p.ating, as he expected, in her father's feeling of distress, burst out a-laughing, while she said: "Why, really, Papa, I do not see why this should put you out much, after all. Aunt may be somewhat of a character, as her note evinces, but after a few days--"

"Nonsense, child; there's nothing in this world I have such a dread of as that confounded woman,--and to come at such a time."

"When does she speak of paying her visit?"

"I knew you had not read the note," said Sir George, hastily; "she's coming here to-night,--is on her way this instant, perhaps. What is to be done? If she forces her way in here, I shall go deranged outright; O'Malley, my boy, read this note, and you will not feel surprised if I appear in the humor you see me."

I took the billet from the hands of Miss Dashwood, and read as follows:--

DEAR BROTHER,--When this reaches your hand, I'll not be far off. I'm on my way up to town, to be under Dr. Dease for the ould complaint. Cowley mistakes my case entirely; he says it's nothing but religion and wind. Father Magrath, who understands a good deal about females, thinks otherwise; but G.o.d knows who's right.

Expect me to tea, and, with love to Lucy, Believe me, yours in haste, JUDITH MACAN.

Let the sheets be well aired in my room; and if you have a spare bed, perhaps we could prevail upon Father Magrath to stop too.

I scarcely could contain my laughter till I got to the end of this very free-and-easy epistle; when at last I burst forth in a hearty fit, in which I was joined by Miss Dashwood.

From the account Power had given me in the morning, I had no difficulty in guessing that the writer was the maiden sister of the late Lady Dashwood; and for whose relations.h.i.+p Sir George had ever testified the greatest dread, even at the distance of two hundred miles; and for whom, in any nearer intimacy, he was in no wise prepared.

"I say, Lucy," said he, "there's only one thing to be done: if this horrid woman does arrive, let her be shown to her room; and for the few days of her stay in town, we'll neither see nor be seen by any one."

Without waiting for a reply, Sir George was turning away to give the necessary instructions, when the door of the drawing-room was flung open, and the servant announced, in his loudest voice, "Miss Macan." Never shall I forget the poor general's look of horror as the words reached him; for as yet, he was too far to catch even a glimpse of its fair owner. As for me, I was already so much interested in seeing what she was like, that I made my way through the crowd towards the door. It is no common occurrence that can distract the various occupations of a crowded ball-room, where, amidst the crash of music and the din of conversation, goes on the soft, low voice of insinuating flattery, or the light flirtation of a first acquaintance; every clique, every coterie, every little group of three or four has its own separate and private interests, forming a little world of its own, and caring for and heeding nothing that goes on around; and even when some striking character or ill.u.s.trious personage makes his _entree_, the attention he attracts is so momentary, that the buzz of conversation is scarcely, if at all, interrupted, and the business of pleasure continues to flow on. Not so now, however. No sooner had the servant p.r.o.nounced the magical name of Miss Macan, than all seemed to stand still. The spell thus exercised over the luckless general seemed to have extended to his company; for it was with difficulty that any one could continue his train of conversation, while every eye was directed towards the door. About two steps in advance of the servant, who still stood door in hand, was a tall, elderly lady, dressed in an antique brocade silk, with enormous flowers gaudily embroidered upon it. Her hair was powdered and turned back in the fas.h.i.+on of fifty years before; while her high-pointed and heeled shoes completed a costume that had not been seen for nearly a century. Her short, skinny arms were bare and partly covered by a falling flower of old point lace, while on her hands she wore black silk mittens; a pair of green spectacles scarcely dimmed the l.u.s.tre of a most piercing pair of eyes, to whose effect a very palpable touch of rouge on the cheeks certainly added brilliancy. There stood this most singular apparition, holding before her a fan about the size of a modern tea-tray; while at each repet.i.tion of her name by the servant, she curtesied deeply, bestowing the while upon the gay crowd before her a very curious look of maidenly modesty at her solitary and unprotected position.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MISS JUDY MACAN.]

As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith, save one or two of Sir George's most intimate friends, the greater part of the company were disposed to regard Miss Macan as some one who had mistaken the character of the invitation, and had come in a fancy dress. But this delusion was but momentary, as Sir George, armed with the courage of despair, forced his way through the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid her welcome to Dublin. The fair Judy, at this, threw her arms about his neck, and saluted him with a hearty smack that was heard all over the room.

"Where's Lucy, Brother? Let me embrace my little darling," said the lady, in an accent that told more of Miss Macan than a three-volume biography could have done. "There she is, I'm sure; kiss me, my honey."

This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy really admirable; while, taking her aunt's arm, she led her to a sofa.

It needed all the poor general's tact to get over the sensation of this most _malapropos_ addition to his party; but by degrees the various groups renewed their occupations, although many a smile, and more than one sarcastic glance at the sofa, betrayed that the maiden aunt had not escaped criticism.

Power, whose propensity for fun very considerably out-stripped his sense of decorum to his commanding officer, had already made his way towards Miss Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to Miss Macan.

"I hope you will do me the favor to dance next set with me, Miss Macan?"

"Really, Captain, it's very polite of you, but you must excuse me. I was never anything great in quadrilles; but if a reel or a jig--"

"Oh, dear Aunt, don't think of it, I beg of you."

"Or even Sir Roger de Coverley," resumed Miss Macan.

"I a.s.sure you, quite equally impossible."

"Then I'm certain you waltz," said Power.

"What do you take me for, young man? I hope I know better. I wish Father Magrath heard you ask me that question, and for all your laced jacket--"

"Dearest Aunt, Captain Power didn't mean to offend you; I'm certain he--"

"Well, why did he dare to [_sob, sob_]--did he see anything light about me, that he [_sob, sob, sob_]--oh, dear! oh, dear! is it for this I came up from my little peaceful place in the west [_sob, sob, sob_]?--General, George, dear; Lucy, my love, I'm taken bad. Oh, dear! oh, dear! is there any whiskey negus?"

Whatever sympathy Miss Macan's sufferings might have excited in the crowd about her before, this last question totally routed them, and a most hearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than one of the bystanders.

At length, however, she was comforted, and her pacification completely effected by Sir George setting her down to a whist-table. From this moment I lost sight of her for above two hours. Meanwhile I had little opportunity of following up my intimacy with Miss Dashwood, and as I rather suspected that, on more than one occasion, she seemed to avoid our meeting, I took especial care on my part, to spare her the annoyance.

For one instant only had I any opportunity of addressing her, and then there was such an evident embarra.s.sment in her manner that I readily perceived how she felt circ.u.mstanced, and that the sense of grat.i.tude to one whose further advances she might have feared, rendered her constrained and awkward. "Too true," said I, "she avoids me. My being here is only a source of discomfort and pain to her; therefore, I'll take my leave, and whatever it may cost me, never to return." With this intention, resolving to wish Sir George a very good night, I sought him out for some minutes. At length I saw him in a corner, conversing with the old n.o.bleman to whom he had presented me early in the evening.

"True, upon my honor, Sir George," said he; "I saw it myself, and she did it just as dexterously as the oldest blackleg in Paris."

"Why, you don't mean to say that she cheated?"

"Yes, but I do, though,--turned the ace every time. Lady Herbert said to me, 'Very extraordinary it is,--four by honors again.' So I looked, and then I perceived it,--a very old trick it is; but she did it beautifully.

What's her name?"

"Some western name; I forget it," said the poor general, ready to die with shame.

"Clever old woman, very!" said the old lord, taking a pinch of snuff; "but revokes too often."

Supper was announced at this critical moment, and before I had further thought of my determination to escape, I felt myself hurried along in the crowd towards the staircase. The party immediately in front of me were Power and Miss Macan, who now appeared reconciled, and certainly testified most openly their mutual feelings of good-will.

"I say, Charley," whispered Power, as I came along, "it is capital fun,--never met anything equal to her; but the poor general will never live through it, and I'm certain of ten day's arrest for this night's proceeding."

"Any news of Webber?" I inquired.

"Oh, yes, I fancy I can tell something of him; for I heard of some one presenting himself, and being refused the _entree_, so that Master Frank has lost his money. Sit near us, I pray you, at supper. We must take care of the dear aunt for the niece's sake, eh?"

Not seeing the force of this reasoning, I soon separated myself from them, and secured a corner at a side-table. Every supper on such an occasion as this is the same scene of solid white muslin, faded flowers, flushed faces, torn gloves, blushes, blanc-mange, cold chicken, jelly, sponge cakes, spooney young gentlemen doing the attentive, and watchful mammas calculating what precise degree of propinquity in the crush is safe or seasonable for their daughters to the mustached and unmarrying lovers beside them. There are always the same set of gratified elders, like the benchers in King's Inn, marched up to the head of the table, to eat, drink, and be happy, removed from the more profane looks and soft speeches of the younger part of the creation. Then there are the _hoi polloi_ of outcasts, younger sons of younger brothers, tutors, governesses, portionless cousins, and curates, all formed in phalanx round the side-tables, whose primitive habits and simple tastes are evinced by their all eating off the same plate and drinking from nearly the same wine-gla.s.s,--too happy if some better-off acquaintance at the long table invites them to "wine," though the ceremony on their part is limited to the pantomime of drinking. To this miserable _tiers etat_ I belonged, and bore my fate with unconcern; for, alas, my spirits were depressed and my heart heavy. Lucy's treatment of me was every moment before me, contrasted with her gay and courteous demeanor to all save myself, and I longed for the moment to get away.

Never had I seen her looking so beautiful; her brilliant eyes were lit with pleasure, and her smile was enchantment itself. What would I not have given for one moment's explanation, as I took my leave forever!--one brief avowal of my unalterable, devoted love; for which I sought not nor expected return, but merely that I might not be forgotten.

Such were my thoughts, when a dialogue quite near me aroused me from my revery. I was not long in detecting the speakers, who, with their backs turned to us, were seated at the great table discussing a very liberal allowance of pigeon-pie, a flask of champagne standing between them.

"Don't now! don't I tell ye; it's little ye know Galway, or ye wouldn't think to make up to me, squeezing my foot."

"Upon my soul, you're an angel, a regular angel. I never saw a woman suit my fancy before."