"My dear sister Peters!" said Mrs. O'Donagough, "you are surrounded by so large a party, that I fear these last moments which I meant to dedicate to the affection of my kinsfolk, may be more inconvenient than pleasurable to you. But you cannot, I am sure, refuse me some portion of your society this evening, as it is probably the last one we shall ever pass together. Give me leave, sister Peters, to introduce you to my husband, the Reverend Mr. O'Donagough. Mr. Peters, Mr. O'Donagough; Mr. James Peters, Mr. O'Donagough; Mr. O'Donagough, my dear Mary; my husband, young ladies; Mr. O'Donagough, my dear Elizabeth and Lucy! Good Heaven! Agnes here? and my aunt Compton, too!... Well, so much the better, my dear Patrick; I shall now have the pleasure of presenting you to more relations, and as I should be proud to introduce you to all the world, this can only be an increase of pleasure to me. Agnes Willoughby, my dear, I can't say you behaved very well to me when the cheerful sort of life I indulged in, solely on your account, was changed for sorrow and imprisonment; but, nevertheless, my religious principles, which are stronger, my dear, than even when you knew me, lead me to forgive you, and, better still, they lead me to introduce you to your excellent and exemplary uncle, the Reverend Mr. O'Donagough."
During the whole course of these speeches not a single voice had been heard to pronounce a syllable in reply, excepting that of Mr. Peters, who put his heels together and made a bow when she paused, husband in hand, before him, and said, "Your servant, sir!"
But Agnes, when her turn came, though colouring most painfully at being so addressed, and with her heart sinking under the unexampled annoyance of this intrusion, contrived to say, "I hope I see you well, aunt."
"Yes, Miss Agnes; well, and happy too, I promise you; and I wish you were likely to be as well settled, child, as I am. But I should like to know who it is has come forward with money to dress you up so?... You have not been singing on the stage, I hope?... Your uncle would be dreadfully shocked at such a thing; for he says that stage-plays are an abomination.... And upon my word, aunt Compton, you are grown mighty smart too in your old age. Mercy on me!... Vanity of vanities!... all is vanity!"... And then looking into the inner room, and perceiving that she had several more acquaintances there, she again took her husband by the hand and led him into it, presenting him to Lady Elizabeth, her niece, Colonel Hubert, and the two Stephensons. But when she came to Mr. Willoughby, who was standing with his youngest daughter at a window, she stopped, and looking at him very earnestly, seemed puzzled.
He bowed, though evidently without knowing her, and then, turning from her unpleasantly curious scrutiny, resumed his conversation with Nora.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mrs. O'Donagough ... "but I should really be very much obliged if you would tell me your name."
"My name, madam, is Willoughby."
"Gracious heaven!" exclaimed the bride, "O'Donagough, dearest, this is an eventful day indeed.... Behold your brother!"
The two gentlemen stared at each other with an expression of countenance more indicative of surprise than of fraternal affection ... Mr. Willoughby, indeed, looked very much as if he suspected that the poor lady, be she who she would, was decidedly not in her right mind; while her husband, rather weary, perhaps, of such a continuity of introductions, escaped from her side, and stationed himself at another window.
"Willoughby!... dearest Willoughby!... Is it possible that you can have forgotten me?... Can you, indeed, have forgotten the sister of your wife?"