And when the last limb had been distributed, he turned his crimson face and gleaming eyeglass upon me.
“And why haven’t we seen you out with the hounds lately, Miss Sarsfield?” he began, in a wheezy, luscious voice, with a suspicion of brogue in it. “Nugent brought home such accounts of your doings that I went out myself in hopes of seeing you show us all the way.”
I modestly disclaimed all credit for the glories of the run which had made such a sensation. “And I have only been able to go out once or twice since,” I added; “the meets have been so far away, and Willy has only two horses.”
“Ah! I wish you’d let me give you a mount. Your father has done as much for me many a day when I was a youngster; and I think you and I ought to be great friends”—this with a gaze of deep feeling from the unglazed eye.
“Thank you; you are very kind,” I murmured discomposedly, looking towards the little madam to see if she were noting the behaviour of her lord.
But no; the pink ribbons and marabout tufts of her elaborate cap were nodding complacently towards Willy, who was talking to her with enviable ease and fluency.
Willy’s skill in talking to elderly ladies amounted to inspiration. At present both Madam O’Neill and Miss Bessie Burke were hanging on his words, with every appearance of rapt interest; while I, the beloved of old men, could make no fitting rejoinder to the advances of my host. “But then,” I reflected, in self-extenuation, “old women are infinitely preferable to old men.”
“Ah yes!” The O’Neill went on, “how much you remind me of your father! The same wonderful dark eyes——”
“Mine are grey,” I interrupted, in as repressive a manner as possible.
The objects in question immediately underwent a close scrutiny.