ting look eagerly turned towards the duke, ready at any moment
to drop down or stand upright before him as the circumstances might
warrant.

[Illustration: 128]

Entering at once into the spirit of the scene, the duke bowed with
the most formal courtesy, while he vouchsafed to Mr. Rooney some few
expressions of compliment. At the same time, drawing Mrs. Rooney's arm
within his own, he led her down the room, with a grace and dignity of
manner no one was more master of than himself. As for Paul, apparently
unable to stand upright under the increasing load of favours that
fortune was showering upon his head, he looked over his shoulder at Mrs.
Rooney, as she marched off in triumph, with the same exuberant triumph
Young used to throw into Othello, as he passionately exclaims--

'Excellent wench I perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee!'

Not but that, at the very moment in question, the object of it was most
ungratefully oblivious of Mr. Rooney and his affection.

Had Mrs. Paul Rooney been asked on the morning after her ball, what
was her most accurate notion of Elysian bliss, she probably would have
answered--leaning upon a viceroy's arm in her own ball-room, under the
envious stare and jealous gaze of eight hundred assembled guests. Her
flushed look, her flashing eye, the trembling hand with which she waved
her fan, the proud imperious step, all spoke of triumph. In fact,
such was the halo of reverence, such the reflected brightness the
representative of monarchy then bore, she felt it a prouder honour to
be thus escorted, than if the Emperor of all the Russias had deigned
to grace her mansion with his presence. How she loved to run over every
imaginable title she conceived applicable to his rank, 'Your Royal
Highness,' 'Your Grace,' 'Your noble Lordship,' varying and combining
them like a a child who runs his erring fingers over the keys of a
pianoforte, and is delighted with the efforts of his skill.

While this kingly scene was thus enacting, the ballroom resumed its
former life and vivacity. This indeed was owing to O'Grady. No sooner
had his scheme succeeded of delivering up the duke into the hands of the
Rooneys, than he set about restoring such a degree of turmoil, tumult,
noise, and merriment, as, while it should amuse his grace, would rescue
him from the annoyance of being stared at by many who never had walked
the boards with a live viceroy.

'Isn't it gloriously done, Hinton?' he whispered in my ear