“Mamma,” she said, trying by the solemnity of her tone to impress her mother with the absolute necessity she was under of again appealing to her upon the subject, “what are we to do about young men?”
“About young men, my dear?”
“Yes, mamma: there’ll be a house-full of young ladies—there’s the Fitzgeralds—and Lady Louisa Pratt—and Miss Ellison—and the three O’Joscelyns—and not a single young man, except Mr O’Joscelyn’s curate!”
“Well, my dear, I’m sure Mr. Hill’s a very nice young man.”
“So he is, mamma; a very good young man; but he won’t do to amuse such a quantity of girls. If there were only one or two he’d do very well; besides, I’m sure Adolphus won’t like it.”
“Why; won’t he talk to the young ladies?—I’m sure he was always fond of ladies’ society.”
“I tell you, mamma, it won’t do. There’ll be the bishop and two other clergymen, and old Colonel Ellison, who has always got the gout, and Lord George, if he comes—and I’m sure he won’t. If you want to make a pleasant party for Adolphus, you must get some young men; besides, you can’t ask all those girls, and have nobody to dance with them or talk to them.”
“I’m sure, my dear, I don’t know what you’re to do. I don’t know any young men except Mr. Hill; and there’s that young Mr. Grundy, who lives in Dublin. I promised his aunt to be civil to him: can’t you ask him down?”
“He was here before, mamma, and I don’t think he liked it. I’m sure we didn’t. He didn’t speak a word the whole day he was here. He’s not at all the person to suit Adolphus.”
“Then, my dear, you must go to your papa, and ask him: it’s quite clear I can’t make young men. I remember, years ago, there always used to be too many of them, and I don’t know where they’re all gone to. At any rate, when they do come, there’ll be nothing for them to eat,” and Lady Cashel again fell back upon her deficiencies in the kitchen establishment.