“The Chevalier Bayard himself could not have done more,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with admirable gravity.
“I must say,” resumed the dragoon, “we thought it handsome, for old Cox was always hard up for money.”
“And what is to become of our theatricals, if Mr. Linton should have been so ill-natured as to drown himself?” said Mrs. White, in a most disconsolate tone; for she had already made terrible havoc in her wardrobe to accomplish a Turkish costume.
“Such a disappointment as it will be,” sighed Olivia Kennyfeck, who had speculated on a last effort upon Cashel in a Mexican dress, where, certes, superfluity should not be the fault.
“You can always make some compensation for the disappointment,” said Lady Kilgoff, “by a fancy ball.”
“Oh, delightful! the very thing!” exclaimed several together. “When shall it be, Mr. Cashel?”
“I am entirely at your orders,” said he, bowing courteously.
“Shall we say Tuesday, then?”
“Not Tuesday; we have the race on that morning,” said Frobisher; “and some of us, at least, will be too tired for a ball afterwards.”
“Well, Wednesday,—is Wednesday open?”