The interval lasted ten minutes only, and during the time people talked to one another, some even leaving their places, and visiting about; their voices sounded like the buzzing of a great swarm of bees; so far every one agreed that the concert was a wonderful success.
The second part of the entertainment opened with a glee. Ten young girls trooped up, and bashfully took their places on the stage, and sang “The Hunting Morn,” no doubt in compliment to the members of the Harkaway pack, who were present. The glee went capitally, and was loudly encored; the ten maidens were duly prepared, and sang another with equal success.
Among the group, Mary Foley was supreme; she had a brilliant colour, her eyes shone with excitement, her voice was clear and high, she was not the least self-conscious, although the gaze of all her little world was concentrated on her, including the gaze of Mr. Ulick Doran—for, owing to the exigencies of space already indicated, performers who had played their parts, immediately resumed their seats among the audience. The girl created a sensation, not merely in the cheap, but the ten-shilling places. Her neighbours and friends asked one another if Mary didn’t look for all the world like a lady born? as good as the best! and twice as natural as some that were there?
“An will ye luck at the turn of her neck,” said Mrs. Hogan of “The Arms,” “and the grand set of her head. She might well be somebody, instead of just a working girl, the daughter of John Foley.”
Among the upper ten she was prodigiously admired; but Mrs. Doran did her utmost to damp all enthusiasm and extinguish curiosity, and was uncommonly sorry she had allowed the Foley girl to appear. She was far too conspicuous.
“Oh, she was just taken in to make up the dozen,” she explained, “and is only the daughter of one of our cottagers; indeed, she lives in a humble way, and is not in the same class as the rest.”
“Now, I should have said it was the other way about,” exclaimed Lady Borrisokane. “It shows one should not judge by appearances. She really looks almost ladylike—have you noticed her hands?”
“No!” impatiently, “I never looked at them, though she is my egg-girl this six years. She is inclined to be a bit above her station, and I make a point of keeping her in her place. It is the really truest kindness.”
“She is most awfully pretty and jolly-looking,” put in a young man. “I only wish——”