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Some twenty-three years previously that devout Irish Catholic nobleman, the Right Honourable James Dominic Bawne, tenth Earl of Castleclare, Baron Kilhail, Count of the Holy Roman Empire, and D.L. for West Connemara, not contented with the possession of three very tall, very handsome, very popular daughters the Right Honourable Ladies Bridget-Mary, Alyse, and Alethea Bawne consulted his favourite spiritual director, and, as advised, offered his thin white hand and piously regulated affections to Miss Nancy McIleevy, niece and heiress of McIleevy of McIleevystown, the eminent County Down brewer, so celebrated for his old Irish ales and nourishing bottled porter.
The Dowager-Duchess rushed to the Kensington Convent.... All the little straw-mats on the slippery floor of the parlour were swept like chaff before the hurricane of her advancing petticoats as she bore down upon the most disappointing, erratic, and self-willed niece that ever brought the grey hairs of a solicitous and devoted aunt in sorrow to the grave, demanding in Heaven's name what Bridget-Mary meant by this maniacal decision?
For this slight, unsophisticated, Convent-bred creature, slender as a lily, reared in innocence among the blameless, was rich as her frail, lovely mother had been before her in the mysterious allure of sex. Beautiful Lady Bridget-Mary at the zenith of her stately beauty had never possessed one-tenth of the seductive charm that emanated from this young girl.
Adopted daughter, that was it, of an aunt no, a step-sister of Lord Castleclare, that ineffable little prig of twenty-two, who as a Peer and Privy Councillor of Ireland, and a Lord-in-Waiting to boot, was nevertheless a personage to be deferred to. One had heard, hadn't one, ages ago, of the famous beauty, Lady Bridget-Mary Bawne?
She is or was Lady Bridget-Mary Bawne, sister of that high-falutin' little donkey the present Earl of Castleclare, who came into the title and married at eighteen. His wife has means, I understand. The old Dowager Duchess of Strome, a bosom friend of my mother's, was Biddy's aunt, and Cardinal Voisey, handsome being! is an uncle on the distaff side.
Lady Bridget-Mary Bawne, eldest and handsomest of the three, pleaded if a creature so stormy and imperious could be said to plead a previous engagement to an Ineligible.
Barre will be delighted to provide for you. Excuse me ... I must go." St. Barre, in the Castleclare nursery, had set up another squeal. Thenceforwards the course of true love might have been expected to run smoothly for Lady Bridget-Mary and her gallant lover. But she had reckoned, not without her host, but without her Grey Hussar.
"My dear daughter," he said, more simply and more sweetly than Lady Bridget-Mary had ever heard him speak before, "I think you love this brave gentleman sincerely?" His daughter's large, beautifully-shaped hand closed strongly over the old ivory fingers. The great brilliant dark grey eyes looked at him through a sudden mist of tears, though she lifted her head and held it high.
That is because I have flown here in such a hurry of agitation upon hearing from your father that you have decided to enter the Novitiate at once." "It is true," said Lady Bridget-Mary, standing very tall and dark and straight against the background of the parlour window, that was filled in with ground-glass, and veiled with snowy curtains of starched thread-lace. "True!
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