“Not over much. Paddy Lennan looked with great contempt at the men sipping orgeat, and when he saw the waltzing, merely remarked, 'We've a betther way of getting round the girls in Ireland;' while old Pierre Dulange, Netherby's valet, persists in addressing the native company as 'Messieurs les Sauvages.'”
“I hope, for the sake of the public peace, they 've not got an interpreter among them.”
“No, no, all's safe on that score, and freedom of speech has suggested the most perfect code of good manners; for it would seem, as they can indulge themselves in the most liberal reflections on each other, they have no necessity of proceeding to overt acts.”
“Now,” said the Knight, “let me not interrupt the revelry longer. To your place, Lionel, and leave me to pay my devoirs to my friends and kind neighbors.”
The Knight's presence seemed alone wanting to fill up the measure of enjoyment. Most of those present were his old familiar friends, glad to see once more amongst them the great promoter of kind feeling and hospitality, while from such as were strangers he easily won golden opinions, the charm of courtesy being with him like a well-fitting garment, which graced, but did not impede, the wearer's motions.
He had a hundred questions to ask and to answer. The news of the capital travelled in those days by slow and easy stages, and the moment was sufficiently eventful to warrant curiosity; and so, as he passed from group to group, he gave the current gossip of the time as each in turn asked after this circumstance or that.
At length he took his place beside Lord Netherby, as he sat engaged at a whist-table, where the gathering crowd that gradually collected soon converted the game into a social circle of eager talkers.
Who could have suspected that easy, unconstrained manner, that winning smile, that ready laugh, the ever-present jest, to cover the working of a heart so nigh to breaking? And yet he talked pleasantly and freely, narrating with all his accustomed humor the chit-chat of the time; and while of course, the great question of the hour occupied every tongue and ear, all Lord Netherby's practised shrewdness could not enable him to detect the exact part the Knight himself had taken.
“And so they have carried the bill,” said Conolly, with a sigh, as he listened to Darcy's account of the second reading. “Well, though I never was a Parliament man, nor expected to be one, I'm sorry for it. You think that strange, my Lord?”
“By no means, sir. A man may love monarchy without being the heir apparent.”