“Oh, the Townleys! Poor Mrs. Townley, with her yellow turban and red feathers, that Lord Dunbrock mistook for a vol-au-vent garnished with shrimps.”
“Caroline!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, reprovingly, for her daughter's sallies had more than once verged upon the exhaustion of her patience.
“We shall not weary you with any description of the 'refreshers,' Mr. Cashel.”
“Pray who and what are they?” inquired Cashel.
“The 'refreshers' are that amiable but undervalued class in society who are always asked for the evening when the other members of the family are invited to dine. They are the young lady and young gentleman class,—the household with ten daughters, and a governess that sings like, anything but, Persiani. They are briefless barristers, with smart whiskers; and young men reading for the Church, with moustaches; infantry officers, old maids, fellows of college, and the gentleman who tells Irish stories.”
“Caroline, I really must request—”
“But, mamma, Mr. Cashel surely ought to learn the map of the country he is to live in.”
“I am delighted to acquire my geography so pleasantly,” cried Cashel. “Pray go on.”
“I am bound over,” said she, smiling; “mamma is looking penknives at me, so I suppose I must stop. But as to these same 'refreshers,' you will easily distinguish them from the dinner company. The young ladies are always fresher in their white muslin; they walk about in gangs, and eat a prodigious deal of bread-and-butter at tea. Well, I have done, mamma, though I 'm sure I was not aware of my transgressions.”
“I declare Mr. Kennyfeck is asleep again.—Mr. Kenny-feck, have the goodness to wake up and say who is to make the whist-table for Lady Blennerbore.”