Five years passed away after the marriage in York Place without anything particularly eventful occurring in my life. I finished my education, took a fairly good degree at Cambridge, got called to the Bar, and was, perhaps, neither better nor worse than the majority of bachelors who have uncontrolled possession of a large income. As time passed on, I am ashamed to say that I pretty nearly forgot all about Miss Grey. This seems, no doubt, very fickle and unromantic. But five years is a long time; and the new scenes and circumstances that I was surrounded by after my marriage naturally engrossed my attention in a way that those who have never experienced such a change of fortune can hardly understand or make allowance for.
I shall take up the thread of my story in the December of 187-, when I was stopping at Nice with a Mr. Mervin, who was about my own age, and a great friend of mine. We left London for Nice on the evening after I had gone through the ceremony of being called to the bar; and I devoutly wish that I had space to tell how we left London and Paris wrapped up in cold and fog, and, after traveling all night, woke up in the morning while the train was running along the shores of the Mediterranean, dazzled by the wondrous light of that southern climate. The light seemed a universal presence. It was unlike anything I could have imagined; and the whole of my first day at Nice seemed to me like a continued morning.
On the second night after our arrival we went to a ball at the English club. Why we went there I hardly know, for neither of us was much of a ladies' man. Mervin was somewhat a Bohemian, and the peculiar position in which I was placed made me avoid the society of ladies, lest I should contract or engender an affection that could not be requited.
We had scarcely entered the ballroom, however, when Mervin exclaimed:
"Goodness me! Mrs. O'Flaherty, and Miss O'Flaherty too. I declare. Well, this is an unexpected pleasure."
One of the ladies he addressed was a stout, middle-aged matron, whose countenance bespoke her nationality quite as unmistakably as did her name. Her companion was a tall, fair-haired young lady who seemed to me to have one of the most refined and beautiful faces I had ever seen.
"Why, I protest," continued Mervin, before either of the ladies could say a word in answer to his salutation, "my dear Mrs. O'Flaherty, it must be a year since we have seen each other, and you seem to have grown ten years younger."
"Tell that yarn to the mounted maranes, Misther Blarney," said Mrs. O'Flaherty, laughing, and looking quite pleased.
"Allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Brooke," said Mervin. "Mr. Brooke, Mrs. O'Flaherty; Mr. Brooke, Miss O'Flaherty."
We bowed.