As no one had ever heard of the fair Judith, save one or two of Sir George’s most intimate friends, the greater part of the company were disposed to regard Miss Macan as some one who had mistaken the character of the invitation, and had come in a fancy dress. But this delusion was but momentary, as Sir George, armed with the courage of despair, forced his way through the crowd, and taking her hand affectionately, bid her welcome to Dublin. The fair Judy, at this, threw her arms about his neck, and saluted him with a hearty smack that was heard all over the room. “Where’s Lucy, Brother? Let me embrace my little darling,” said the lady, in an accent that told more of Miss Macan than a three-volume biography could have done. “There she is, I’m sure; kiss me, my honey.” This office Miss Dashwood performed with an effort at courtesy really admirable; while, taking her aunt’s arm, she led her to a sofa. It needed all the poor general’s tact to get over the sensation of this most _malapropos_ addition to his party; but by degrees the various groups renewed their occupations, although many a smile, and more than one sarcastic glance at the sofa, betrayed that the maiden aunt had not escaped criticism. Power, whose propensity for fun very considerably out-stripped his sense of decorum to his commanding officer, had already made his way towards Miss Dashwood, and succeeded in obtaining a formal introduction to Miss Macan. “I hope you will do me the favor to dance next set with me, Miss Macan?” “Really, Captain, it’s very polite of you, but you must excuse me. I was never anything great in quadrilles; but if a reel or a jig--” “Oh, dear Aunt, don’t think of it, I beg of you.” “Or even Sir Roger de Coverley,” resumed Miss Macan. “I assure you, quite equally impossible.” “Then I’m certain you waltz,” said Power. “What do you take me for, young man? I hope I know better. I wish Father Magrath heard you ask me that question, and for all your laced jacket--” “Dearest Aunt, Captain Power didn’t mean to offend you; I’m certain he--” “Well, why did he dare to [_sob, sob_]--did he see anything light about me, that he [_sob, sob, sob_]--oh, dear! oh, dear! is it for this I came up from my little peaceful place in the west [_sob, sob, sob_]?--General, George, dear; Lucy, my love, I’m taken bad. Oh, dear! oh, dear! is there any whiskey negus?” Whatever sympathy Miss Macan’s sufferings might have excited in the crowd about her before, this last question totally routed them, and a most hearty fit of laughter broke forth from more than one of the bystanders.