“I am so—and so best! In Ireland the people laughed with me. Here they laugh at me. Oh, it’s a sore change!” she concluded, in a miserable voice.
“Surely you need not trouble your head, or think about them.”
“But I’ve not much else to think of just now, being hand-idle. Tell me,” she added eagerly, “what did you think now, when you saw me?”
“My first impression when I caught sight of you was, ‘Splendid isolation.’ Then I had a curious sense, of something foreseen.”
“I can’t understand them grand words.”
“Are you aware, Major Doran, that you have cut my dance?” said a sharp voice, and there was Miss Tripp and her partner standing beside them.
“Number eleven, I think,” he faltered, hurriedly pulling out his programme.
“No, number ten. I see that you agree with Lady Joseline, who simply came to the ball to sit out”; and she accorded the girl a deadly glance.
“I’m sorry, Miss Tripp,” he said. “Pray accept my most abject apologies.”
“Oh, well, if you really are repentant, you may have the next instead,” said the lady, releasing her cavalier with a nod. “It’s going to begin, so come along—I hate to miss even a bar.”