“Irish stories should be told in Ireland,” she cried.
“There is one Irish story that must be told here, Miss Lindsay,” said Percival gravely, “and I would beg your attention for a very brief moment.”
“Why, it must be a very tragic one,” cried the hostess. “You are as grave as the entire senate when Othello addressed them,” to Percival. “You, my dear little Irish girl, from being as joyous as Nora Creina, are as sad as poor suffering Erin herself; and you, caballero mio,” to Devereux, “have summoned a winter cloud of frown to your brow, behind it thunder. If Mr. Percival insists let us hear his horrible tale in comfort. Messieurs et mesdames, asseyez vous.”
No one took a seat but the hostess, and she sought a coigne of vantage upon the stairs.
“I hardly know how to begin,” said Percival very slowly. “I can make no amende beyond the utter humiliation the narration of the story will inflict, and no ordeal that I could be put to could possibly prove more bitter. Until five minutes ago I was in utter ignorance that to Miss Devereux and her brother I could claim relationship.”
“Relationship! How awfully jolly!” exclaimed Miss Lindsay, fanning herself violently.
“You, then, are Eugene Percival?” cried Charley Devereux, surveying him with a glance in which scorn and anger struggled for mastery.
“I am Eugene Percival, your kinsman. Stay,” he added as Charley was about to interrupt him. “I ask to be heard—that is all. To err is human, to forgive divine. I have made a ghastly mistake; I now eat the humblest of pie. I can urge nothing in extenuation for my silly small-talk. It was weak, it was shabby. I pillory myself. I beg to assure you, my cousins, that within the last five minutes I have passed through a bitter agony. I did not catch your name, Miss Devereux, when the honor was conferred upon me of taking you down to dinner. I had not the faintest conception who you were whilst my stupid tongue babbled. I was not aware that this gentleman was your brother. I did not know who he was until within five minutes. Fate has been playing at cross purposes with me. I offer no apology for my bad form in not replying to the letters I received. There is none that could be accepted. A chain of circumstances has woven itself which ties me to the earth. I can only say that I earnestly hope some chance may be granted me of showing how anxious I am to redeem myself with my Irish cousins.” And making a deep bow, Eugene Percival hurried down the stairs and from the house.
Upon the day following this dénouement Percival called upon Jack Pommery at the lodgings of the latter in New Bond Street.