“Well, but, my dear Kate”—Sir Marmaduke had emancipated himself from the more formal “Miss” a week before—“turn to another column, and let us hear if they have any political news.”
“There's not a word, sir, unless an allusion to the rebel colour of my dress at the Chancellor's ball be such. You see, Sybella, Falkner fights not under my banner.”
“I think you stole the Chancellor himself from me,” replied Sybella, laughing, “and I must say most unhandsomely too: he had just given me his arm, to lead me to a chair, when you said something in a half whisper—I could not catch it if I would—he dropped my arm, burst out a laughing, and hurried over to Lord Clonmel—I suppose to repeat it.”
“It was not worth relating, then,” said Kate, with a toss of her head. “I merely remarked how odd it was Lady Ridgeway couldn't dance in time, with such beautiful clocks on her stocking.”
“O, Kate dearest!” said Sybella, who, while she could not refrain from a burst of laughter, became deep scarlet at her friend's hardihood.
“Why Meddlicot told that as his own at supper,” said Sir Marmaduke.
“So he did, sir; but I cautioned him that a license for wholesale does not permit the retail even of jokes. Isn't the worthy sheriff a druggist? But what have we here—all manner of changes on the staff—Lord Sellbridge to join his regiment at Hounslow, vice, Captain———your brother, Sybella—Captain Frederick Travers”—and she reddened slightly at the words. “I did not know he was appointed aid-decamp to the Viceroy.”
“Nor did I, my dear,” said Sir Marmaduke. “I knew, he was most anxious to make the exchange with Lord Sellbridge; but this is the first I have heard of the success of his negociation.”
“You see, Kate,” said Sybella, while a sly glance shot beneath her long-lashed lids, “that even Fred has become a partizan of Ireland.”
“Perhaps the prospect of the revolt he hinted at,” replied Kate, with an air of scornful pride, “has made the Guardsman prefer this country for the moment.”