“Why, Charles,” exclaimed Woodward, addressing his brother in a whisper, “who is that lovely peasant girl?”
“Her father is one of our tenants,” replied Charles; “and she was about to be married some time ago, but it was discovered, fortunately in time, that her intended husband was head and leader of the outlaws that infest the country. It was he, I believe, that leaped over the bonfire.”
“Was she fond of him?”
“Well, it is not easy to say that; some say she was, and others that she was not. Barney Casey says she was very glad to escape him when he became an outlaw.”
“By the way, where is Barney? I haven't seen him since I came to look at this nonsense.”
“Just turn your eye to the farthest corner of the room, and you may see him in his glory.”
On looking in the prescribed direction, there, sure enough, was Barney discovered making love hard and fast to a pretty girl, whom Woodward remembered to have seen that morning in Mr. Goodwin's, and with whom he (Barney) had become acquainted when the families were on terms of intimacy. The girl sat smiling on his knee, whilst Barney who had a glass of punch in his hand, kept applying it to her lips from time to time, and pressing her so lovingly toward him, that she was obliged occasionally to give him a pat upon the cheek, or to pull his whiskers. Woodward's attention, however, was transferred once more to Grace Davoren, from whom he could not keep his eyes—a fact which she soon discovered, as was evident by a slight hauteur and affectation of manner toward many of those with whom she had been previously on an equal and familiar footing.
“Charles,” said he, “I must have a dance with this beautiful girl; do you think she will dance with me?”
“I cannot tell,” replied his brother, “but you can ask her.”
“By the way, where are my father and the rest? They have left the room.”