id Louisa, laughing, as her bright eyes
sparkled with fun, 'perhaps you 'll take a seat in our carriage.'

I pressed her arm gently and murmured my assent, assisted her in, and
placed myself beside her.

CHAPTER XXVII. THE RACE BALL

Fast as had been the pace in the Major's tax-cart, it seemed to me as
though the miles flew much more quickly by as I returned to the town.
How, indeed, they passed I cannot well say; but, from the instant that
I quitted Mr. Dillon's house to that of my arrival in Loughrea, there
seemed to be but one brief, delightful moment. I have already said that
Miss Bellew's manner was quite changed; and, as I assisted her from the
carriage, I could not but mark the flashing brilliancy of her eye and
the sparkling animation of her features, lending, as they did, an added
loveliness to her beauty.

'Am I to dance with you, Mr. Hinton?' said she laughingly, as I led
her up the stairs. 'If so, pray be civil enough to ask me at
once--otherwise, I must accept the first partner that offers himself.'

'How very stupid I have been! Will you, pray, let me have the honour?'

'Yes, yes--you shall have the honour; but, now that I think of it, you
mustn't ask me a second time. We countryfolk are very prudish about
these things; and, as you are the lion of the party, I should get into a
sad scrape were I to appear to monopolise you.'

'But you surely will have compassion on me,' said I, in a tone of
affected bashfulness. 'You know I am a stranger here--neither known to
nor by any one save you.'

'_Ah_, _treve de modestie!_' said she coquettishly. 'My cousins will be
quite delighted; and indeed, you owe them some _amende_ already.'

'As how?' said I. 'What have I done?'

'Rather, what have you left undone? I'll tell you. You have not come
to the ball in your fine uniform, with your aiguillette and your showy
feathers, and all the pride, pomp, and circumstance of your dignity as
aide-de-camp. Learn, that in the west we love the infantry, doat on
the dragoons, but we adore the staff. Now, a child would find it as
difficult to recognise a plump gentleman without a star on his breast as
a king, as we western ladies would to believe in the military features
of a person habited in quiet black. You should, at least, have some
symbol of your calling. A little bit of moustache like a Frenchman, a
foreign order at your button-hole, your arm in a sling--from a wound,
as it were--even a pair of brass spurs woul