The introduction was soon over, the tea poured out, and some half-dozen ladies established round the fire to engage in that small talk which never seems to fail them, and for which the duller sex find smoking so poor a substitute.
It appeared there was a large party staying at the castle. Not that the house was full, nor indeed could it be, since only one-half had been furnished: but there were country neighbours, who came long distances; soldiers, both horse and foot; a "Jackeen"[3] or two, sporting friends of Mr. Macormac; a judicial dignitary, a Roman Catholic bishop, and a cluster of London dandies.
Mrs. Lushington's eyes sparkled, like those of a sportsman who proceeds to beat a turnip field into which the adjoining stubbles have been emptied of their coveys.
"How gay you are, Lady Mary," said she, "on this side of the Channel! I am sure you have much more fun in Ireland than we have in London!"
"I think we have," answered her ladyship. "Though my experience of London was only six weeks in me father's time. I liked Paris better, when Macormac took me there, before Louisa was born. But Punchestown week, Mrs. Lushington, ye'll find Dublin as good as both."
"Sure! I'd like to go to Paris next winter, mamma," exclaimed the second girl, with a smile that lit up eyes and face into sparkling beauty. "Just you and me and Papa, and let the family stay here in the castle, to keep it warm."
"And leave your hunting, Norah!" replied her mother. "Indeed, then, I wonder to hear you!"
"Are you fond of hunting?" asked Miss Douglas, edging her chair nearer this kindred spirit.
"It's the only thing worth living for," answered Miss Norah decidedly. "Dancing's not bad, with a real good partner, if he'll hold you up without swinging you at the turns; but, see now, when you're riding your own favourite horse, and him leading the hunt, that's what I call the greatest happiness on earth!"