“As it happens, I had heard nothing about it,” said Connie, from the other side of the table; “but I cannot say that I feel much excited at the prospect of one of their dances.”
“I am looking forward to it immensely,” I said, persevering with my topic. “I want very much to see a real Irish ball.”
“Yes,” said Nugent, reflectively; “you will see that to great perfection at the Jackson-Crolys’. They excel in old Irish hospitality. They do that kind of thing in quite the traditional way. Little Croly offers you whiskey the moment you get into the hall; and, though you may not believe it, Mrs. Jackson-Croly orders champagne to be put into all the carriages when people are coming away. The guests are generally pretty happy by that time, and she says it is to keep their hearts up on the way home.”
“That’s quite true,” observed Connie; “and, as well as I remember, you were not at all above drinking it next day.”
“Do they dance jigs at these entertainments?” I asked. “If so, I am afraid I shall be rather out of it.”
“Oh yes,” said Willy, with what was intended to be biting sarcasm; “and horn-pipes and Highland flings. They always do at Irish dances.”
“Nonsense, Willy! They don’t really, do they, Mr. O’Neill?”
“It is always well to be prepared for emergencies,” he answered, “so I should advise you to have some lessons from Willy. I have been told that step-dancing is his strongest suit.”
“Who told you that?” demanded Willy.
“One of our men was at McCarthy’s wedding the other day, and said he saw you there.”