"Ah! troublesome qualities those, especially in a rich woman, and a handsome one to boot. There is something very taking about that sister-in-law of yours, Mrs. Ormonde. If I were Lady Alice I wouldn't trust Errington with her: she would be a dangerous rival."
"Oh, nonsense! Do you think our Admirable Crichton could go wrong?"
"I don't know. If he ever does, he'll go a tremendous cropper."
"Well, Mr. De Burgh, if you would like to go in and win, you had better make the running now. Once she 'comes out' in town, you will find a host of competitors."
"Ha! I suppose you think a rugged fellow like me would have little or no chance with the curled darlings of May Fair and South Kensington?" Mrs. Ormonde looked down on her fan, but did not speak. De Burgh laughed. "Who is going to bring her out?" he asked.
"I am," with dignity.
De Burgh's reply was short and simple. He said, "Oh!" and the interjection (is there an interjection now?—I am not young enough to know) brought the color to Mrs. Ormonde's cheek and a frown to her fair brow. "The young lady is, on the whole, original," he continued. "She does not care to be presented."
"Do you believe her? I don't. She only said so from love of contradicting."
"Yes, I believe her; she does not care about it now; but she will probably get the court fever after a plunge into London life. Who is singing?—that is something different from the penny whistling Lady Alice gives us."
"Why it must be Katherine! It is the first time she has sung since she came. She is always afraid of breaking down, she says. I don't believe she has sung since the death of her mother." De Burgh's only reply was to walk into the next room. Leaving Mrs. Ormonde in a state of irritation against him, Katherine, and the world in general.