By this time the hall was full--Lady Mary, in a blaze of family diamonds, Colonel Moore in a sad, dejected state of mind, Miss Dopping in black velvet, with magnificent Mechlin lace--who would suppose this somewhat stately old lady to be the self-same Sally, who wore a poke bonnet, short woollen skirts, and was followed in her walks by a train of hungry beggars, instead of these yards of the finest Genoa pile? The party from Roskeen drove over to Lord Enniscorthy’s seat, the scene of the festivity, in a comfortable, well-warmed private omnibus. Flora Pink, Kathleen, and Fred, kept the ball of conversation rolling, but Betty was too nervous, and too full of delightful anticipations to talk much. How her heart beat, as they drove under the grand entrance porch, and stepped out upon red cloth! Ghosty Moore gave her his sound arm, and a programme; in another moment she was among the crowd of strange faces--and presented to Lady Enniscorthy, a stout elderly woman, with a large nose, who smiled on her graciously, and then they passed on into the ball-room. She danced the first lancers with Ghosty, and this gave her time to compose herself, look about her, and regain her self-possession. Several pairs of eyes were fixed on her, and people asked: “Who was the pretty, tall girl who had come with the Moores?” To hear that “she was nobody in particular, only Mrs. Redmond’s niece,” was rather a disappointment. After the dance, Betty and her partner walked about and recognised their acquaintances--the Malones for instance, who seized on Betty as upon a long lost friend--Mrs. Malone looking flushed and nervous, in a new black brocade, the Major pompous and talkative, Denis in gloves much too large, and shoes much too small, holding his nose high in the air, and affecting to look down upon the whole thing. Then there were the Finnys, in a retired nook, which commanded a good view--Mrs. Finny pitifully abject, Maria grim and defiant, hardly knowing a soul in the room, save by sight.