I confess I was not quite comfortable as I walked down stairs. In the first place I was nearly half an hour late, and I knew from the vigour of the peals that had sounded that my slowness had already been made the subject of strong remarks. And then my left shoe went flop, flop, on every alternate step of the stairs. By no exertion of my foot in the drawing up of my toe could I induce it to remain permanently fixed upon my foot. But over and above and worse than all this was the conviction strong upon my mind that I should become a subject of merriment to the girls as soon as I entered the room. They would understand the cause of my distress, and probably at this moment were expecting to hear me clatter through the stone hall with those odious metal boots. However, I hurried down and entered the drawing-room, determined to keep my position near the door, so that I might have as little as possible to do on entering and as little as possible in going out. But I had other difficulties in store for me. I had not as yet been introduced to Mrs. O’Conor; nor to Miss O’Conor, the squire’s unmarried sister. “Upon my word I thought you were never coming,” said Mr. O’Conor as soon as he saw me. “It is just one hour since we entered the house. Jack, I wish you would find out what has come to that fellow Larry,” and again he rang the bell. He was too angry, or it might be too impatient to go through the ceremony of introducing me to anybody. I saw that the two girls looked at me very sharply, but I stood at the back of an arm-chair so that no one could see my feet. But that little imp Tizzy walked round deliberately, looked at my heels, and then walked back again. It was clear that she was in the secret. There were eight or ten people in the room, but I was too much fluttered to notice well who they were. “Mamma,” said Miss O’Conor, “let me introduce Mr. Green to you.” It luckily happened that Mrs. O’Conor was on the same side of the fire as myself, and I was able to take the hand which she offered me without coming round into the middle of the circle. Mrs. O’Conor was a little woman, apparently not of much importance in the world, but, if one might judge from first appearance, very good-natured. “And my aunt Die, Mr. Green,” said Kate, pointing to a very straight-backed, grim-looking lady, who occupied a corner of a sofa, on the opposite side of the hearth. I knew that politeness required that I should walk across the room and make acquaintance with her. But under the existing circumstances how was I to obey the dictates of politeness? I was determined therefore to stand my ground, and merely bowed across the room at Miss O’Conor. In so doing I made an enemy who never deserted me during the whole of my intercourse with the family. But for her, who knows who might have been sitting opposite to me as I now write?