'Sing us the song, Peter,' called out another.
'This is too bad!' said I passionately, as, driving the spurs into my horse, I dashed through the ragged mob, upsetting and overturning all before me. Not, however, before I was recognised; and, as I cantered down the street, a shout of derision, and a hailstorm of offensive epithets followed me.
It was, I confess, some time before I recovered my equanimity enough to think of my visit. For myself, individually, I cared little or nothing; but who could tell in what form these things might reach my friends in England?—how garbled! how exaggerated! how totally perverted! And then, too, Miss Bellew! It was evident that she was alluded to. I trembled to think that her name, polluted by the lips of such wretches as these, should be cried through the dark alleys and purlieus of the capital; a scoff and a mockery among the very outcasts of vice.
As I turned the corner of Grafton Street a showy carriage with four grey horses passed me by. I knew it was the Rooney equipage, and although for a moment I was chagrined that the object of my visit was defeated, on second thoughts I satisfied myself that, perhaps, it was quite as well; so I rode on to leave my card. On reaching the door, from which already some visitors were turning away, I discovered that I had forgotten my ticket-case; so I dismounted to write my name in the visiting-book; for this observance among great people Mrs. Rooney had borrowed, to the manifest horror and dismay of many respectable citizens.
'A note for you, sir,' said the butler, in his most silvery accent, as he placed a small sealed billet in my hand.
I opened it hastily. It contained but two lines:
'Miss Bellew requests Mr. Hinton will kindly favour her with a few moments' conversation at an early opportunity.'
'Is Miss Bellew at home?'
'Yes, sir,' said the servant, who stood waiting to precede me upstairs, and announce me.
'Mr. Hinton,' said the man; and the words echoed in the empty drawing-room, as he closed the door behind me. The next moment I heard the rustle of a silk dress, and Miss Bellew came out of the boudoir and walked towards me. Contrary to her usual habit—which was to hold out her hand to me—she now came timidly, hesitatingly forward, her eyes downcast, and her whole air and appearance indicating, not only the traces of sorrow, but of physical suffering.