“The felicity of a dance! that was well expressed, Mr. Hycy; but it was not for nothing that you broke grammatical ground under Patricius Finigan—ah, no; the early indoctrinations will tell;—that is clear.”
“I mean Miss Kathleen,” replied Hycy, without paying any attention to Finigan's observations.
“Why not?” exclaimed both; “of course you will—go over and bring her out.”
Hycy, approaching her, said, in his blandest and most persuasive manner, “Miss Cavanagh, will you allow me the gratification of dancing a reel with you?”
“I'm obliged to you, Mr. Burke,” she replied gravely; “I have just danced a reel with Bryan M'Mahon here, and I don't intend to dance any more to-night.”
“A simple reel?” said Hycy; “perhaps you will so far favor me? I shall consider it as a favor, I assure you.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Burke, but I won't dance any more to-night.”
“That's hard,” he replied, “especially as I came all the way to have that pleasure. Perhaps you will change your mind, Miss Cavanagh?”
“I'm not in the habit of changing my mind, Mr. Burke,” she replied, “and I don't see any reason why I should do so now. I say once for all that I won't dance any more to-night.”
“What is it,” asked the mother, on perceiving her hesitation; “won't she dance wid you? Hut, tut, Kathleen, what nonsense is this? To be sure you must dance wid Mr. Burke; don't take any refusal, Mr. Burke—is that all you know about girls.—sure nineteen refusals is aquil to one consent. Go over, Gerald, and make her dance wid him,” she added, turning to her husband.