en she was
presented--what a sensation! They called her the 'Irish Rose,' and
'Deirdre,' for her skin of cream and her grey eyes and billowing clouds of
black hair. Society raved of her for three seasons, until the fools went
even madder about that little Hawting woman--a stiff starched martinet's
frisky half--who bolted with the man my glorious Biddy had given her
beautiful hand to. And the result! She--who might have married an
Ambassador and queened it in Petersburg with the best of 'em--she's in a
whitewashed Convent, superintending the education of Dutch and Afrikander
schoolgirls in Greek, Latin, French, Algebra and Mathematics,
calisthenics, needlework, the torture of the piano, and the twiddle of the
globes. He has something to answer for, that old crony of yours!"

Lady Hannah stopped for breath, giving the listener his opportunity.

"My dear lady, you have told me a great deal without enlightening me in
the least. Who is my 'crony,' and who was your friend?"

Lady Hannah opened her round beady eyes in astonishment.

"Haven't I told you? She is--or was--Lady Bridget-Mary Bawne, sister of
that high-falutin' little donkey the present Earl of Castleclare, who came
into the title and married at eighteen. His wife has means, I understand.
The old Dowager Duchess of Strome, a bosom friend of my mother's, was
Biddy's aunt, and Cardinal Voisey, handsome being! is an uncle on the
distaff side. All the Catholic world and his wife were at her taking of
the veil of profession nineteen years ago. The Pope's Nuncio, the
Cardinal-Bishop of Mozella, officiated, and the Comtesse de Lutetia was
there with the Duc d'O.... They didn't cut off her beautiful black hair,
though we outsiders were on tiptoe to see the thing done. I don't think I
ever cried so much in my life. Had hysterics--real--when I got home, and
mother scolded fearfully. The Duke of C---- came with his equerry, and
after the cloister-gates had shut--crash--on beautiful Biddy in her bridal
laces, and white satin, and ropes of pearls, and we were all waiting,
breathless, for her to come back in the habit, I heard the Duke say, not
that the dear old thing ever meant to be profane: 'By God! General, I'm
damned if Captain Mildare hasn't made Heaven an uncommonly handsome
present!' And the man he said that to was the husband of the very woman
Dicky had run away with not quite twelve months before. Mercy on us!"

"Good Heavens!" the listener had cried and started to h