This was rather too long a speech for Miss Cunningham to listen to attentively; but she discovered that it meant "no;" and, unmindful of the annoyance expressed in Lord Rochford's face, and his muttered "Yes, yes, to be sure, I told her so—girls are so obstinate," she hardly waited till it was ended, before she was at Mrs Harrington's side, asking her most earnestly to consent.
Mrs Harrington slowly raised her eyes from her work, and, in a voice which sounded in Dora's ears like the murmuring roll of distant thunder, begged to be informed what it was she wished her to do.
"To have a dance," exclaimed Miss Cunningham, even then feeling but little doubt of her success: "a delightful dance in the hall; just such a one as Sir Francis Egerton gave at Tweeddale Park last year."
"And may I ask," inquired Mrs Harrington, calmly, "who Sir Francis
Egerton is, and why his actions are to be an example to me?"
"Oh, he is a cousin of ours," replied Miss Cunningham. "Mary Egerton is just my age; and she opened the ball."
"Indeed! then, in my opinion, she would have been much better employed with her studies in the schoolroom."
"You cannot really be in earnest," persisted Miss Cunningham; "it was the most charming thing in the world; and every one was so happy."
"Very probably," replied Mrs Harrington, again returning to her work.
"That is so kind of you," said Miss Cunningham; "then you will have no objection. When shall it be?"
"Never, with my consent," answered Mrs Harrington, rising in extreme indignation at what she considered impertinence and want of feeling. "My daughters have been strangely forgetful to allow such a thing to be mentioned. Dora, at your age, I should have thought you would have known better."