“This is as good a perch as any; I know the house well,” he said. “You can see and be seen; they all pass by in review order”; and he nodded or bowed to several acquaintances. Finally, he got up to speak to a lady in reply to an imperative summons, and Joseline for the moment was alone. How strange! She did not see one familiar face. How different to her former dances: when she took the floor—a mud floor—with Tom Kelly or Patsy Malone, an enthusiastic audience of friends and admirers lined the room, and greeted their performance with uproarious applause—applause so vigorous and infectious, that the very soot came tumbling down the chimney!
As she sat a little aloof and distrait, looking vacantly before her, her mind filled with other images, she recalled her sole previous experience of a society gathering—the great concert at Kilmoran, and Mr. Ulick singing the bull-fighter’s song. These reflections were interrupted by her hostess, who had been attracted by her lovely face, and now approached her, followed by a tall, soldierly-looking man.
“I hope you are dancing?” she said. “I have brought you a partner—Major Doran.”
Behold the hour and the man!
Had Joseline’s thoughts summoned him?
Since we last came across Ulick Doran he had served in India and South Africa, had won laurels, and seen the world. With many matters to occupy his attention and fill his time, he had never forgotten Mary Foley—she held her own against the various pretty visitors who had knocked and rung at the door of his heart. From the animated Indian spin; the South African grass widow; the charming American girls;—his thought invariably turned to a slender red-haired maiden, with a soft, insinuating brogue, and a pair of bewitching brown eyes.
The astonishing history of her exaltation had recently come to his knowledge. It sounded like a fairy tale! Well, she was now nearly as much out of his reach as before—and for an exactly contrary reason.
When Mrs. Hampton (an active and admirable hostess) had said, “I want to introduce you to a beauty,” Major Doran, who had no idea of what was in store for him, obediently accompanied her into a gallery, where sat a young lady in a high-backed chair, with her eyes bent on the ground.
As Mrs. Hampton addressed her, she lifted them and looked from the image in her thoughts on the real man, Ulick Doran—browner, graver, older, otherwise unchanged. In a moment her face became transfigured, and wore a smile of radiant surprise and joy. The recognition was not mutual, until Mrs. Hampton added—
“Major Doran—Lady Joseline Dene.”