"Not another drop after Lady Mary," was the universal acclamation, when Macormac proposed a fresh magnum; and although he suggested drinking the same toast again, a general move was at once made to the music-room, where most of the ladies had congregated with tact and kindness, that their presence might not add to the discomfort of the strangers, arriving late for dinner to join a large party at a country-house.
With Satanella's dreams we have nothing to do. Proserpine seldom affords us the vision we most desire during the hours of sleep. Think of your sweetheart, and as likely as not you will dream of your doctor. Miss Norah helped her new friend to undress, and kissed while she bade her good-night; but with morning came her own maid, looking very cross (the servants' accommodation at Cormac's-town was hardly on a par with the magnificence of the mansion), complaining first of tooth-ache from sleeping in a draught; and, secondly, with a certain tone of triumph, that the closet was damp where she had hung her lady's dresses in a row like Bluebeard's wives. The morning looked dull, rain beat against the windows, the clouds were spongy and charged with wet. It was not enlivening to have one's hair brushed by an attendant vexed with a swelled face, that constantly attracted her own attention in her lady's looking-glass.
Miss Douglas, I fear, had no more toleration than other mistresses for short-comings in an inferior. If she passed these over it was less from the forbearance of good-humour than contempt. The toilette progressed slowly, but was completed at last, and even the maid pronounced it very good. Masses of black hair coiled in thick, shining plaits, plain gold earrings, a broad velvet band tight round the neck, supporting the locket like a warming-pan, a cream-coloured dress, trimmed with black braid, pulled in here, puffed out there, and looped up over a stuff petticoat of neutral tint, the whole fabric supported on such a pair of Balmoral boots as Cinderella must have worn when she went out walking, formed a sufficiently fascinating picture. Catching sight of her own handsome figure in a full-length glass, her spirits rose, and Miss Douglas began to think better of her Irish expedition, persuading herself that she had crossed the Channel only to accompany her friend, and not because Daisy was going to ride at Punchestown.
She would have liked him to see her, nevertheless, she thought, now in her best looks, before she went down to breakfast, and was actually standing, lost in thought, with her hand on the door, when it was opened from without, and Mrs. Lushington entered, likewise in gorgeous apparel, fresh, smiling, beautiful in the gifts of nature as from the resources of art; to use the words of a "jackeen" who described her later in the day, "glittering in paint and varnish, like a new four-in-hand coach!"
"Who do you think is here, dear," was her morning salutation, "of all people in the world, under this very roof? Now guess!"
"Prester John? The Archbishop of Canterbury? The great Panjandrum? How should I know?"
"I don't believe you do know. And I don't believe he knows. It will be rather good fun to see you meet."
"Who is it, dear?" (Impatiently.)
"Why, St. Josephs. He came yesterday morning."