'Indeed, upon my word, your friends are very charming people. What did you say about knighting some one? Oh, I remember: Mr. Rooney, wasn't it? Of course, nothing could be better!'
'Come, Hinton, have you got a sword?' said O'Grady; 'I 've mislaid mine somehow. There, that 'll do. Let us try and find Paul now.'
Into the supper-room we rushed; but what a change was there! The brilliant tables, resplendent with gold plate, candelabras, and flowers, were now despoiled and dismantled. On the floor, among broken glasses, cracked decanters, pyramids of jelly, and pagodas of blancmange, lay scattered in every attitude the sleeping figures of the late guests. Mrs. Rooney alone maintained her position, seated in a large chair, her eyes closed, a smile of Elysian happiness playing upon her lips. Her right arm hung gracefully over the side of the chair, where lately his grace had kissed her hand at parting. Overcome, in all probability, by the more than human happiness of such a moment, she had sunk into slumber, and was murmuring in her dreams such short and broken phrases as the following:—'Ah, happy day!—What will Mrs. Tait say?—The lord mayor, indeed!—Oh, my poor head! I hope it won't be turned.—Holy Agatha, pray for us! your grace, pray for us I—Isn't he a beautiful man? Hasn't he the darling white teeth?'
'Where's Paul?' said O'Grady; 'where's Paul, Mrs. Rooney?' as he jogged her rather rudely by the arm.
'Ah, who cares for Paul?' said she, still sleeping; 'don't be bothering me about the like of him.'
'Egad! this is conjugal, at any rate,' said Phil
'I have him!' cried I; 'here he is!' as I stumbled over a short, thick figure, who was propped up in a corner of the room. There he sat, his head sunk upon his bosom, his hands listlessly resting on the floor. A large jug stood beside him, in the concoction of whose contents he appeared to have spent the last moments of his waking state. We shook him, and called him by his name, but to no purpose; and, as we lifted up his head, we burst out a-laughing at the droll expression of his face; for he had fallen asleep in the act of squeezing a lemon in his teeth, the half of which not only remained there still, but imparted to his features the twisted and contorted expression that act suggests.
'Are you coming, O'Grady?' now cried the duke impatiently.