folly it
had been on his lips to speak. Three of his immediate ancestors had
married penniless girls, and it was well known that another love-match
would precipitate the property over that precipice known to every Irish
landowner--the Encumbered Estates Court. But those dainty temples, so
finely shaded with light brown tresses, that delicately moulded
head--delicate as an Indian carven ivory, dispelled all thoughts of his
property, and he forgot his duty to marry an heiress. Violet meanwhile,
prompted by her instinct, said the right words:

'But things never turn out as well or as badly as we expect them to.'

This facile philosophy went like wine to the little Marquis's head, and
he longed to throw himself at the feet of his goddess and thank her for
the balm she had poured upon him. The gloom of approaching ruin
disappeared, and he saw nothing in the world but a white tulle skirt, a
thin foot, a thin bosom, and a pair of bright grey eyes. Vaguely he
sought for equivalent words, but loud-talking dancers passed into the
room, and, abashed by their stares, the Marquis broke off a flowering
branch and said, stammering the while incoherently:

'Will you keep this in memory of this evening?'

Violet thrust the flowers into her bosom, and was about to thank him,
when an A.D.C. came up and claimed her for the dance. She told him he
was mistaken, that she was engaged; and, taking Lord Kilcarney's arm,
they made their way in silence back to the ball-room. Violet was
satisfied; she felt now very sure of her Marquis, and, as they
approached Mrs. Scully, a quick glance said that things were going as
satisfactorily as could be desired. Not daring to trust herself to the
gossip of the chaperons, this excellent lady sat apart, maintaining the
solitary dignity to which the Galway counter had accustomed her. She
received the Marquis with the same smile as she used to bestow on her
best customers, and they talked for a few minutes of the different
aspects of the ball-room, of their friends, of things that did not
interest them. Then Violet said winsomely, affecting an accent of
command that enchanted him:

'Now I want you to go and dance with someone else; let me see--what do
you say to Olive Barton? If you don't, I shall be in her mother's black
books for the rest of my life. Now go. We shall be at home to-morrow;
you might come in for tea;' and, suffocated with secret joy, Lord
Kilcarney made his way across the room to Mrs. Bart