He took something from his breast and pressing it to his lips, held it out to her.
“Will you wear it, my lady,” he said softly, “the symbol of an unfortunate country and—of a loyal heart?”
She looked at it strangely, it was a piece of shamrock. Perhaps she meant to refuse it, but she saw Savile coming and a malicious imp leaped into her eyes. She took it and tried to fasten it in her hair but her fingers faltered, and Savile drew nearer; the music, too, heralded another dance.
“Permit me,” said Richard Trevor, and deftly fastened the shamrock where the rose had been, that slipped and fell between them on the floor.
Lady Clancarty’s face was crimson. Trevor knelt on one knee and taking up the rose kissed it.
“A fair exchange,” he said.
She bit her lip and stretched out her hand to snatch the flower.
“You will dance with me now, my lady?” said Lord Savile.
“You were long in coming,” replied her ladyship wickedly, with mock eagerness, but not without a backward glance to see the effect of it; but the coquette was disappointed.
At her words, the Irishman let her flower lie where it had fallen, and in a few minutes she saw him dancing with the pretty daughter of a country squire. Lady Clancarty liked it so little that she set her teeth on her lip and gave my Lord Savile a bit of her temper. Yet she wore the shamrock, though half the room began to comment upon it.