Extracted from Ormond by Maria Edgeworth, published by Appletree Press
Ormond
by Maria Edgeworth
Chapter One - part 5
Sir Ulick had finished his cup of coffee. "Miss Black send away the tea things—send away all these things," cried he. "Young ladies, better late than never, you know—let's have dancing now; clear the decks for action."
The young ladies started from their seats immediately. All was now in happy motion. The servants answered promptly—the tea things retired in haste-tables rolled away—chairs were swung into the back ground—the folding-doors of the dancing-room were thrown open—the pyramids of wax candles in the chandeliers (for this was ere argands were on earth) started into light—the musicians tuning, screwing, scraping, sounded, discordant as they were, joyful notes of preparation.
"But where's my son? Where's Marcus?" said Sir Ulick, drawing Lady O'Shane aside. "I don't see him any where."
"No," said Lady O'Shane; "you know that he would go to dine to-day with that strange cousin of yours, and neither he nor his companion have thought proper to return yet."
"I wish you had given me a hint," said Sir Ulick, "and I would have waited; for Marcus ought to lead off with Miss Annaly."
"Ought—to be sure," said Lady O'Shane; "but that is no rule for young gentlemen's conduct. I told both the young gentlemen, that we were to have a dance to night. I mentioned the hour, and begged them to be punctual."
"Young men are never punctual," said Sir Ulick; "but Marcus is inexcusable to-night on account of the Annalys."
Sir Ulick pondered for a moment with an air of vexation, then turning to the musicians, who were behind him—
"You four-and-twenty fiddlers all in a row—you gentlemen musicians, scrape and tune on a little longer, if you please. Remember you are not ready till I draw on my gloves. Break a string or two if necessary."
"We will—we shall plase your honour."
"I wish, Lady O'Shane," continued Sir Ulick in a lower tone, "I wish you had given me a hint of this."
"Truth to tell, Sir Ulick, I did, I own, conceive from your walk and way, that you were not in a condition to take any hint I could give."
"Pshaw, my dear, after having known me, I won't say loved me, a calendar year, how can you be so deceived by outward appearances. Don't you know that I hate drinking; but when I have these county electioneering friends, the worthy red noses, to entertain, I suit myself to the company, by acting spirits instead of swallowing them, for I should scorn to appear to flinch!"
This was true. Sir Ulick could, and often did, to the utmost perfection, counterfeit every degree of intoxication. He could act the rise, decline, and fall of the drunken man, marking the whole progress, from the first incipient hesitation of reason to the glorious confusion of ideas in the highest state of elevation, thence through all the declining cases of stultified paralytic ineptitude, down to the horizontal condition of preterpluperfect ebriety.
"Really, Sir Ulick, you are so good an actor that I don't pretend to judge—I can seldom find out the truth from you."
"So much the better for you, my dear, if you knew but all," —said Sir Ulick, laughing.
"If I knew but all," repeated her ladyship, with an alarmed look. "But that's not the matter in hand at present, my dear."
The first chapter of Ormond by Maria Edgeworth concludes here
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