“I hope you will do me the favor to dance next set with me, Miss Macan?”
“Really, Captain, it’s very polite of you, but you must excuse me. I was never anything great in quadrilles; but if a reel or a jig—”
“Oh, dear Aunt, don’t think of it, I beg of you.”
“Or even Sir Roger de Coverley,” resumed Miss Macan.
“I assure you, quite equally impossible.”
“Then I’m certain you waltz,” said Power.
“What do you take me for, young man? I hope I know better. I wish Father Magrath heard you ask me that question, and for all your laced jacket—”
“Dearest Aunt, Captain Power didn’t mean to offend you; I’m certain he—”
“Well, why did he dare to [sob, sob]—did he see anything light about me, that he [sob, sob, sob]—oh, dear! oh, dear! is it for this I came up from my little peaceful place in the west [sob, sob, sob]?—General, George, dear; Lucy, my love, I’m taken bad. Oh, dear! oh, dear! is there any whiskey negus?”
Whatever sympathy Miss Macan’s sufferings might have excited in the crowd about her before, this last question totally routed them, and a most hearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than one of the bystanders.