At last by a
mighty effort he turned with a sickly smile to some of his guests--
"Here is the original of 'The Queen of Connemara'--scarcely
recognisable in her new clothes, is she? Why, Eily, my child," with a
paternal air, "whatever brought you here to London?"
It was an unwise question; the answer was plain enough.
"Faith, thin, 'twas yourself, Misther Hamilton! You promised to come
back to me, and said you would make me the finest lady in the land; and
I waited, but faix, I got sick and sore, so I came to find yez, and it's
well-nigh at death's door I was till I heard of yez and found where ye
live--and musha, but it's a grand place, God bless it!"
Eily was looking around her now at the beautiful room, the lovely women,
their smart attire, and shyness seized her; she hung her head in dismay;
every one in the room was pressing forward to see the girl whom Hamilton
had immortalised, and comments on her appearance passed from lip to lip.
"Stand there, Eily," said Hamilton kindly, placing her on a low stool
that stood near. The game should be played out now.
The crowd pressed around eagerly, delighted and curious.
[Sidenote: A Pleasant Surprise!]
"What a pleasant surprise you have prepared for us, dear Mr. Hamilton!
quite unprepared, I assure you! but ah, how you artists idealise to be
sure! who but genius itself could find anything picturesque under so
much glitter and vulgarity?" and so on and so on, until Eily's blushing
face grew paler and paler.
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