Roland Cashel Volume I Part 17

"Baldoyle, mamma."

"Yes, member for Baldoyle; and she was a Miss Gamett, of Red Gamett, in Antrim; a most respectable connection; so I think we may forgive him.

Yes, Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k, you are, at least, reprieved."

"Here come the Whites, mamma. I suppose we may reckon on both, though she, as usual, sends her hopes and fears about being with us at dinner, but will be delighted to come in the evening."

"That apology is stereotyped," broke in Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, "as well as the little simpering speech she makes on entering the drawing-room. 'So you see, my dear Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, there is no resisting you. Colonel White a.s.sured me that your pleasant dinners always set him up for a month,--he, he, he.'"

If Cashel had not laughed heartily at the lisping imitation, it is possible Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k might have been displeased; but as the quiz "took," she showed no umbrage whatever.

"The Honorable Downie Meek, Under Secretary of State," read Olivia, with a little more of emphasis than on the last-mentioned names.

"A person you'll be charmed with, Mr. Cashel,--so highly informed, so well bred, so perfectly habituated to move in the very highest circles,"

said Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, giving herself, as she spoke, certain graces of gesture which she deemed ill.u.s.trative of distinguished fas.h.i.+on.

"A cuc.u.mber dressed in oil," whispered Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, who showed more than once a degree of impatience at these eulogistic descriptions.

"The Dean of Dramcondera, your great favorite, mamma."

"So he is, my dear. Now, Mr. Cashel, I shall insist upon you liking my Dean. I call him _my_ Dean, because one day last spring--"

"Mrs. Biles wants to speak to you, ma'am, for a minute," said the butler from behind the chair; and although the interruption was anything but pleasant, yet the summons must be obeyed, for Mrs. Biles was the housekeeper, and any approach to treating her with indifference or contempt on the eve of a great dinner would be about as impolitic as insulting a general who was about to command in a great battle; so that Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k rose to comply, not even venturing a word of complaint, lest the formidable functionary should hear of it, and take her revenge on the made dishes.

"Now for the Dean. Is mamma out of hearing?" said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, who rejoiced at the casual opportunity of a little portrait-painting in a different style. "Conceive a tall, pompous man, with large white features, and a high bald head with a conical top; a sharp, clear, but unpleasant voice, always uttering grave nonsense, or sublime absurdity.

He was a brilliant light at Oxford, and came over to illumine our darkness, and if pedantry could only supply the deficiency in the potato crop, he would be a providence to the land. His affectation is to know everything, from chuck-farthing to conic sections, and so to diffuse his information as always to talk science to young ladies, and discuss the royal game of goose with Lords of the Treasury. His failures in these attempts at Admirable Crichtonism would abash even confidence great as his, but that he is surrounded by a little staff of admirers, who fend off the sneers of the audience, and, like buffers, break the rude shocks of worldly collision. Socially, he is the tyrant of this capital; for having learning enough to be more than a match for those he encounters, and skill enough to give his paradoxes a mock air of authority, he usurps a degree of dictation and rule that makes society mere slavery.

You 'll meet him to-morrow evening, and you'll see if he does not know more of Mexico and Savannah life than you do. Take care, I say, that you venture not into the wilds of the Pampas; for you'll have his companions.h.i.+p, not as fellow-traveller, but as guide and instructor. As for myself, whenever I read in the papers of meetings to pet.i.tion Parliament to repeal this or redress that, in the name of 'Justice to Ireland,' I ask, why does n.o.body pray for the recall of the Dean of Drumcondera?"

"Here's mamma," whispered Olivia, as the drawing-room door opened.

"We've done the Dean, mamma," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, with calm composure.

"Well, don't you feel that you love him already? Mr. Cashel, confess that you partic.i.p.ate in all my raptures. Oh dear! I do so admire talent and genius," exclaimed Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, theatrically.

Cashel smiled, and muttered something unintelligible; and Olivia read on, but with a rapidity that showed the names required no special notice. "The Craufurds, the Smythes, Mrs. Felix Brown, Lady Emmeline Grove."

"Oh, that dear Lady Emmeline! a most gifted creature; she 's the auth.o.r.ess of some sweet poems. She wrote that touching sonnet in the 'n.o.bility's Gallery of Loveliness,' beginning, 'Twin Sister of the Evening Star.' I'm sure you know it."

"I 'm unfortunate enough never to have seen it," said Cashel.

"Well, you shall see the writer to-morrow evening; I must really take care that you are acquainted. People will tell you that she is affected, and takes airs of authors.h.i.+p; but remember her literary success,--think of her contributions to the 'Court Journal.'"

"Those sweet flatteries of the n.o.bility that Linton calls court-plaster, mamma," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, laughing maliciously.

"Linton is very abusive," said her mother, tartly; "he never has a good word for any one."

"He used to be a pet of yours, mamma," insinuated Olivia.

"So he was till he became so intimate with those atrocious Fothergills."

"Who is he?" said Cashel.

"He's a son of Sir George Linton."

"That's one story, mamma; but as n.o.body ever saw the aforesaid Sir George, the presumption is it may be incorrect. The last version is that he was found, like Moses, the discoverer being Lady Harriet Dropmore, who, with a humanity never to be forgotten,"--"or forgiven," whispered Olivia, "for she has been often taunted with it,"--"took care of the creature, and had it reared,--nay, better again, she sent it to Rugby and to Cambridge, got it into Parliament for Elmwood, and has now made it Master of the Horse in Ireland."

"He is the most sarcastic person I ever met."

"It is such an easy talent," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k; "the worst of wine makes capital vinegar."

"Then here follow a set of soldier people," said Olivia,--"hussars and Queen's Bays, and a Captain Tanker of the Royal Navy,--oh, I remember, he has but one arm,--and then the Pelertons and the Cuffes."

"Well, are we at the end of our muster-roll?"

"Yes, we have nearly reached the dregs of the cup. I see Mr. Knox Softly, and the Townleys!"

"Oh, the Townleys! Poor Mrs. Townley, with her yellow turban and red feathers, that Lord Dunbrock mistook for a _vol-au-vent_ garnished with shrimps."

"Caroline!" cried Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, reprovingly, for her daughter's sallies had more than once verged upon the exhaustion of her patience.

"We shall not weary you with any description of the 'refreshers,' Mr.

Cashel."

"Pray who and what are they?" inquired Cashel.

"The 'refreshers' are that amiable but undervalued cla.s.s in society who are always asked for the evening when the other members of the family are invited to dine. They are the young lady and young gentleman cla.s.s,--the household with ten daughters, and a governess that sings like, anything but, Persiani. They are briefless barristers, with smart whiskers; and young men reading for the Church, with moustaches; infantry officers, old maids, fellows of college, and the gentleman who tells Irish stories."

"Caroline, I really must request--"

"But, mamma, Mr. Cashel surely ought to learn the map of the country he is to live in."

"I am delighted to acquire my geography so pleasantly," cried Cashel.

"Pray go on."

"I am bound over," said she, smiling; "mamma is looking penknives at me, so I suppose I must stop. But as to these same 'refreshers,' you will easily distinguish them from the dinner company. The young ladies are always fresher in their white muslin; they walk about in gangs, and eat a prodigious deal of bread-and-b.u.t.ter at tea. Well, I have done, mamma, though I 'm sure I was not aware of my transgressions."

"I declare Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k is asleep again.--Mr. Kenny-f.e.c.k, have the goodness to wake up and say who is to make the whist-table for Lady Blennerbore."

"Yes, my Lord," said Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k, waking up and rubbing his eyes, "we'll take a verdict for the plaintiff, leaving the points reserved."

A very general laugh here recalled him to himself, as with extreme confusion he continued, "I was so fatigued in the Rolls to-day. It was an argument relative to a trust, Mr. Cashel, which it is of great moment you should be relieved of."

"Oh, never trouble your head about it now, sir," said Cashel, good-naturedly. "I am quite grieved at the weariness and fatigue my affairs are costing you."

"I was asking about Lady Blennerbore's whist," interposed Mrs.

Kennyf.e.c.k. "Who have you for her party besides the Chief Justice?"

"Major M'Cartney says he can't afford it, mamma," said the eldest daughter, slyly. "She is so very lucky with the honors!"

"Where is Thorpe?" cried Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, not deigning to notice this speech,--"he used to like his rubber."