A rose-pink girl, a pale green, a lavender,
a yellow, and our Patricia, in a cloud of white with a sparkle of
silver, and a diamond arrow in her lustrous hair.
What an English nosegay they made, to be sure, as they stood in the
back of the room while paterfamilias approached, and calling each in
turn, gave her a lovely bouquet from a huge basket held by the
butler.
Everybody's flowers matched everybody's frock to perfection; those
of the h'orphan nieces were just as beautiful as those of the
daughters, and it is no wonder that the English nosegay descended
upon paterfamilias, bore him into the passage, and if they did not
kiss him soundly, why did he come back all rosy and crumpled,
smoothing his dishevelled hair, and smiling at Lady Brighthelmston?
We speedily named the girls Rose, Mignonette, Violet, and Celandine,
each after the colour of her frock.
"But there are only five, and there ought to be six," whispered
Salemina, as if she expected to be heard across the street.
"One - two - three - four - five, you are right," said Mr. Beresford.
"The plainest of the lot must be staying in Wales with a maiden aunt
who has a lot of money to leave. The old lady isn't so ill that
they can't give the ball, but just ill enough so that she may make
her will wrong if left alone; poor girl, to be plain, and then to
miss such a ball as this, - hello! the first guest! He is on time to
be sure; I hate to be first, don't you?"
The first guest was a strikingly handsome fellow, irreproachably
dressed and unmistakably nervous.
"He is afraid he is too early!"
"He is afraid that if he waits he'll be too late!"
"He doesn't want the driver to stop directly in front of the door."
"He has something beside him on the seat of the hansom."
"The tissue paper has blown off: it is flowers."
"It is a piece! Jove, this IS a rum ball!"
"What IS the thing? No wonder he doesn't drive up to the door and
go in with it!"
"It is a HARP, as sure as I am alive!"
Then electrically from Francesca, "It is Patricia's Irish lover! I
forget his name."
"Rory!"
"Shamus!"
"Michael!"
"Patrick!"
"Terence!"
"Hush!" she exclaimed at this chorus of Hibernian Christian names,
"it is Patricia's undeclared impecunious lover. He is afraid that
she won't know his gift is a harp, and afraid that the other girls
will. He feared to send it, lest one of the sisters or h'orphan
nieces should get it; it is frightful to love one of six, and the
cards are always slipping off, and the wrong girl is always
receiving your love-token or your offer of marriage."
"And if it is an offer, and the wrong woman gets it, she always
accepts, somehow," said Mr. Beresford; "It's only the right one who
declines!" and here he certainly looked at me pointedly.
"He hoped to arrive before any one else," Francesca went on, "and
put the harp in a nice place, and lead Patricia up to it, and make
her wonder who sent it. Now poor dear (yes, his name is sure to be
Terence), he is too late, and I am sure he will leave it in the
hansom, he will be so embarrassed."
And so he did, but alas! the driver came back with it in an instant,
the butler ran down the long path of crimson carpet that covered the
sidewalk, the first footman assisted, the second footman pursued
Terence and caught him on the staircase, and he descended
reluctantly, only to receive the harp in his arms and send a tip to
the cabman, whom of course he was cursing in his heart.
"I can't think why he should give her a harp," mused Bertie
Godolphin. "Such a rum thing, a harp, isn't it? It's too heavy for
her to 'tote,' as you say in the States."
"Yes, we always say 'tote,' particularly in the North," I replied;
"but perhaps it is Patricia's favourite instrument. Perhaps Terence
first saw her at the harp, and loved her from the moment he heard
her sing the 'Minstrel Boy' and the 'Meeting of the Waters.'"
"Perhaps he merely brought it as a sort of symbol," suggested Mr.
Beresford; "a kind of flowery metaphor signifying that all Ireland,
in his person, is at her disposal, only waiting to be played upon."
"If that is what he means, he must be a jolly muff," remarked the
Honourable Arthur. "I should think he'd have to send a guidebook
with the bloomin' thing."
We never knew how Terence arranged about the incubus; we only saw
that he did not enter the drawing room with it in his arms. He was
well received, although there was no special enthusiasm over his
arrival; but the first guest is always at a disadvantage.
He greeted the young ladies as if he were in the habit of meeting
them often, but when he came to Patricia, well, he greeted her as if
he could never meet her often enough; there was a distinct
difference, and even Mrs. Beresford, who had been incredulous,
succumbed to our view of the case.
Patricia took him over to the piano to see the arrangement of some
lilies. He said they were delicious, but looked at her.
She asked him if he did not think the garlands lovely.
He said, "Perfectly charming," but never lifted his eyes higher than
her face.
"Do you like my dress?" her glance seemed to ask.
"Wonderful!" his seemed to reply, as he stealthily put out his hand
and touched a soft fold of its white fluffiness.
I could hear him think, as she leaned into the curve of the
Broadwood and bent over the flowers-
