“I am glad he had that much decency.”
“And he insists on bringing her home. It’s a terrible trial to my mother.”
“Well, if I’m not mistaken there will be two of them in that trial. And what have you been doing with yourself?”
“Soldiering in India, and other places—and twice to America, to see my aunt Nora. I am going over again immediately. She is a widow now.”
“That was she that came in one soft evening in the old blue cloak. I took her down to ‘The Arms.’ Mrs. Hogan told me about her. She must have got a queer sort of shock when your mother chased her out of the Castle.”
“I think she has forgiven and forgotten. Now would you like to take a turn, and see the other rooms and the dancing?”
“Yes, I would”—rising with graceful alacrity.
“I suppose this is your first ball?” he continued, as they stepped into the stream of moving figures, a remarkably distinguished-looking pair. Joseline held herself well, and looked every inch the daughter of a hundred earls. Not a few people remarked her, and asked, “Who was the beauty?” In fact, she made a sort of triumphal progress, as she moved about the rooms, the loveliest of visions. The fame of her remarkable story, and the presence of her beauty, filled the air. No one who saw Lady Joseline, would believe that she was stupid, common, uneducated, and muddleheaded.
Ulick Doran, her escort, was conscious of the sensation caused by his companion. Admirers crowded about Mrs. Hampton, clamouring for an introduction to the charming heroine of a romantic tale; but among them her cavalier still held his ground, and would not yield his place.