iss Macan's; and certainly
her desires as to the chorus were followed to the letter, for "The Widow
Malone, ohone!" resounded from one end of the table to the other, amidst
one universal shout of laughter. None could resist the ludicrous effect of
her melody; and even poor Sir George, sinking under the disgrace of his
relationship, which she had contrived to make public by frequent allusions
to her "dear brother the general," yielded at last, and joined in the mirth
around him.

"I insist upon a copy of 'The Widow,' Miss Macan," said Power.

"To be sure; give me a call to-morrow,--let me see,--about two. Father
Magrath won't be at home," said she, with a coquettish look.

"Where, pray, may I pay my respects?"

"No. 22 South Anne Street,--very respectable lodgings. I'll write the
address in your pocket-book."

Power produced a card and pencil, while Miss Macan wrote a few lines,
saying, as she handed it:--

"There, now, don't read it here before the people; they'll think it mighty
indelicate in me to make an appointment."

Power pocketed the card, and the next minute Miss Macan's carriage was
announced.

Sir George Dashwood, who little flattered himself that his fair guest
had any intention of departure, became now most considerately attentive,
reminded her of the necessity of muffling against the night air, hoped she
would escape cold, and wished her a most cordial good-night, with a promise
of seeing her early the following day.

Notwithstanding Power's ambition to engross the attention of the lady, Sir
George himself saw her to her carriage, and only returned to the room as a
group was collecting around the gallant captain, to whom he was relating
some capital traits of his late conquest,--for such he dreamed she was.

"Doubt it who will," said he, "she has invited me to call on her to-morrow,
written her address on my card, told me the hour she is certain of being
alone. See here!" At these words he pulled forth the card, and handed it to
Lechmere.

Scarcely were the eyes of the other thrown upon the writing, when he said,
"So, this isn't it, Power."

"To be sure it is, man," said Power. "Anne Street is devilish seedy, but
that's the quarter."

"Why, confound it, man!" said the other; "there's not a word of that here."

"Read it out," said Power. "Proclaim aloud my victory."

Thus urged, Lechmere read:--

DEAR P.,--

Please pay to my credit,--and soon, mark ye!--the two ponies
lost