she raised her eyes the picture she saw engraved itself on her mind. It
was a long time before she could forget Olive's blond, cameo-like
profile seen leaning over the old beau's fat shoulder. Mrs. Barton
laughed and laughed again, declaring the while that it was _la grâce et
la beauté réunies._ Mr. Barton shouted and twanged in measure, the
excitement gaining on him until he rushed at his wife, and, seizing her
round the waist, whirled her and whirled her, holding his guitar above
her head. At last they bumped against Milord, and shot the old man and
his burden on to the nearest sofa. Then Alice, who thought her mission
at the piano was over, rose to go, but Mrs. Barton ordered her to resume
her seat, and the dancing was continued till the carriage came up the
gravel sweep to fetch Milord away. This was generally about half-past
eleven, and as he muffled himself up in overcoats, the girls were told
to cram his pockets with cigarettes and bon-bons.

'Bedad, I think it is revolvers and policemen you ought to be givin' me,
not swatemates,' he said, affecting a brogue.

'Oh yes, is it not dreadful?' exclaimed Mrs. Barton. 'I don't know what
we shall do if the Government don't put down the Land League; we shall
all be shot in our beds some night. Did you hear of that murder the
other day?'

'And it is said there will be no rents collected this year,' said Mr.
Barton, as he tightened one of the strings of his guitar.

'Oh, do cease that noise!' said Mrs. Barton. 'And tell me, Lord Dungory,
will the Government refuse us soldiers and police to put the people
out?'