“And with you, too, O’Malley?”
“I thank you,” said I, coldly; “I’m not disposed to make such a return for Sir George Dashwood’s hospitality as to make an insult to his family the subject of a bet.”
“Why, man, what are you dreaming of? Miss Dashwood will not refuse my chaste salute. Come, Power, I will give you the other pony.”
“Agreed,” said he. “At the same time, understand me distinctly—that I hold myself perfectly eligible to winning the wager by my own interference; for, if you do kiss her, I’ll perform the remainder of the compact.”
“So I understand the agreement,” said Webber, and off he went.
I have often dressed for a storming party with less of trepidation than I felt on the evening of Sir George Dashwood’s ball. It was long since I had seen Miss Dashwood; therefore, as to what precise position I might occupy in her favour was a matter of great doubt in my mind, and great import to my happiness.
Our quadrille over, I was about to conduct her to a seat, when Sir George came hurriedly up, his face greatly flushed, and betraying every semblance of high excitement.
“Read this,” said he, presenting a very dirty-looking note.
Miss Dashwood unfolded the billet, and after a moment’s silence, burst out a-laughing, while she said, “Why, really, papa, I do not see why this should put you out much, after all. Aunt may be somewhat of a character, as her note evinces; but after a few days——’,