George Covert, I was
astonished to see the cruelty in his almost perfect features, which were
smooth as a woman's, and lighted by a pair of clear, dark-golden eyes.

Ah, those wonderful eyes of Walter Butler--ever-changing eyes, now
almost black, glimmering with ardent fire, now veiled and amber, now
suddenly a shallow yellow, round, staring, blank as the eyes of a caged
eagle; and, still again, piercing, glittering, narrowing to a slit.
Terrible mad eyes, that I have never forgotten--never, never can forget.

As Sir Lupus named me, Walter Butler dropped Sir George's hand and
grasped mine, too eagerly to please me.

"Ormond and Ormond-Butler need no friends to recommend them each to the
other," he said. And straightway fell a-talking of the greatness of the
Arrans and the Ormonds, and of that duke who, attainted, fled to France
to save his neck.

I strove to be civil, yet he embarrassed me before the others, babbling
of petty matters interesting only to those whose taste invites them to
go burrowing in parish records and ill-smelling volumes written by some
toad-eater to his patron.

For me, I am an Ormond, and I know that it would be shameful if I turned
rascal and besmirched my name. As to the rest--the dukes, the glory, the
greatness--I hold it concerns nobody but the dead, and it is a
foolishness to plague folks' ears by boasting of deeds done by those you
never knew, like a Seminole chanting ere he strikes the painted post.

Also, this Captain Walter Butler was overlarding his phrases with
"Cousin Ormond," so that I was soon cloyed, and nigh ready to damn the
relationship to his face.

Sir Lupus, who had managed to rise by this time, waddled off into the
drawing-room across the hallway, motioning us to follow; and barely in
time, too, for there came, shortly, Sir John Johnson with a company of
ladies and gentlemen, very gay in their damasks, brocades, and velvets,
which the folds of their foot-mantles, capuchins, and cardinals
revealed.

The gentlemen had come a-horseback, and all wore very elegant uniforms
under their sober cloaks, which were linked with gold chains at the
throat; the ladies, prettily powdered and patched, appeared a trifle
over-colored, and their necks and shoulders, innocent of buffonts,
gleamed pearl-tinted above their gay breast-knots. And they made a
sparkling bevy as they fluttered up the staircase to their cloak-room,
while Sir John entered the drawing-room, followed by the other