im doubt whether he had conjectured aright.
These doubts, however, did not for an instant shake his determination to
have a share in the fun. It was a joyous dancing party, and that was
quite enough for him. In the meantime he contented himself with staring
at the strange but splendid figures by whom he was surrounded, and who
were, in various corners of the apartment, gliding through the "mazy
dance." But if Donald's surprise was great at the costumes which he was
now so intently marking, those who displayed them were no less surprised
at that which he exhibited. Donald's strange, but striking attire, in
truth, had attracted all eyes; and much did those who beheld it wonder
in all the earth to what country it belonged. But simple wonder and
admiration were not the only sensations which Donald's garb produced
on the masquers. His kilt had other effects. It drove half the ladies
screaming out of the apartment, to its wearer's great surprise and no
small displeasure. The guise which Donald wore, however, and which all
believed to have been donned for the occasion, was, on the whole, much
approved of, and the wearer, in more than one instance, complimented for
his taste in having selected so novel and striking a garb. But even his
warmest applauders objected to the scantiness of the kilt, and hinted
that, for decorum's sake, this part of his dress should have been
carried down to his heels. This improvement on his kilt was suggested,
in the most polite terms, to Donald himself, by a Spanish gentleman, who
spoke a little English, and who had ascertained that our hero was a
native of Great Britain, and whom he believed to be a man of note. To
this suggestion Donald made no other reply than by a look of the utmost
indignation and contempt. The Spanish gentleman, whose name was Don
Sebastanio, seeing that his remark had given offence, hastened to
apologise for the liberty he had taken--assuring Donald that he meant
nothing disrespectful or insulting. This apology was just made in time,
as the irritable Celt had begun to entertain the idea of challenging
the Spaniard to mortal combat. As it was, however, his good nature
at once gave way to the pacific overture that was made him. Seizing
the apologist by the hand, with a gripe that produced some dismal
contortions of countenance on the part of him on whom it was inflicted--

"Is no harm done at all, my friend. You'll not know no petter, having
never peen, I dare say, in our count