"Come along wid yez," persisted Patrick, half carrying him toward the dance room.
"Here," he said to Lord Kelwin, "here's light-footed Janette O'Neil will dance this wid yez."
There was a stir. The center of the room was cleared, then out stepped Lord Kelwin, leading rosy, graceful Janette. She was lithe and dainty.
The fiddler flourished his bow, drew it across the strings, and brought forth the strains of "Soldier's Joy,"—a melody that sets an Irishman's feet flying.
Janette's short, red skirt showed her trim feet and ankles. Down the room came the two dancers, side by side, their feet fairly flying. Backward, again they danced, the length of the room, still keeping up the feathery rapidity of flying feet. Then Lord Kelwin swung his partner around and around; then facing each other, they danced apart. Expressions of admiring approval were heard.
"Them's fine dancers!"
"Go it, Kelwin! I'll bet on you."
"Three cheers for ould Ireland!"
Down again the full length of the room sped the flying feet; then back again. Then, whirling as birds in flight, they faced each other once more, and danced apart, and finished the dance amid deafening applause. As it continued, Lord Kelwin raised his hand for attention.
"Give us the Highland fling. Here, Burns, you and Jessie Roth dance the Highland fling."