It seemed his butler was
an Irishman and a violent Parnellite. Some people can talk as though
servants were mere machines, but to me they are human beings, and
their presence hampers me. I know my guests have not heard the story
before, and from one's own flesh and blood one expects a certain
amount of sacrifice. But I feel so sorry for the housemaid who is
waiting; she must have heard it a dozen times. I really cannot
inflict it upon her again.
After dinner we pushed the table into a corner, and Dick extracted a
sort of waltz from Robina's mandoline. It is years since I danced;
but Veronica said she would rather dance with me any day than with
some of the "lumps" you were given to drag round by the dancing-
mistress. I have half a mind to take it up again. After all, a man
is only as old as he feels.
Young Bute, it turned out, was a capital dancer, and could even
reverse, which in a room fourteen feet square is of advantage.
Robina confided to me after he was gone that while he was dancing she
could just tolerate him. I cannot myself see rhyme or reason in
Robina's objection to him. He is not handsome, but he is good-
looking, as boys go, and has a pleasant smile. Robina says it is his
smile that maddens her. Dick agrees with me that there is sense in
him; and Veronica, not given to loose praise, considers his
performance of a Red Indian, both dead and alive, the finest piece of
acting she has ever encountered.
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