"So do I," said Lydia; "but one can hardly call others to account
for one's own subjective ideas."
Lydia went away to another part of the room without waiting for a
reply. Meanwhile, Cashel stood friendless in the middle of the room,
stared at by most of his neighbors, and spoken to by none. Women
looked at him coldly lest it should be suspected that they were
admiring him; and men regarded him stiffly according to the national
custom. Since his recognition of Lydia, his self-confidence had
given place to a misgiving that he had been making a fool of
himself. He began to feel lonely and abashed; and but for his
professional habit of maintaining a cheerful countenance under
adverse circumstances, he would have hid himself in the darkest
corner of the room. He was getting sullen, and seeking consolation
in thoughts of how terribly he could handle all these
distantly-mannered, black-coated gentlemen if he chose, when Lord
Worthington came up to him.
"I had no idea you were such an orator, Byron," he said. "You can go
into the Church when you cut the other trade. Eh?"
"I wasn't brought up to the other trade," said Cashel; "and I know
how to talk to ladies and gentlemen as well as to what you'd suppose
to be my own sort. Don't you be anxious about me, my lord. I know
how to make myself at home."
"Of course, of course," said Lord Worthington, soothingly. "Every
one can see by your manners that you are a gentleman; they recognize
that even in the ring. Otherwise--I know you will excuse my saying
so--I daren't have brought you here."
Cashel shook his head, but was pleased. He thought he hated
flattery; had Lord Worthington told him that he was the best boxer
in England--which he probably was--he would have despised him. But
he wished to believe the false compliment to his manners, and was
therefore perfectly convinced of its sincerity. Lord Worthington
perceived this, and retired, pleased with his own tact, in search of
Mrs. Hoskyn, to claim her promise of an introduction to Madame
Szczymplica, which Mrs. Hoskyn had, by way of punishing him for
Cashel's misdemeanor, privately determined not to redeem.
Cashel began to think he had better go. Lydia was surrounded by men
who were speaking to her in German. He felt his own inability to
talk learnedly even in English; and he had, besides, a conviction
that she was angry with him for upsetting her cousin, who was
gravely conversing with Miss Goff. Suddenly a horrible noise caused
a general start and pause. Mr. Jack, the eminent composer, had
opened the piano-forte, and was illustrating some points in a
musical composition under discussion by making discordant sounds
with his voice, accompanied by a few chords. Cashel laughed aloud in
derision as he made his way towards the door through the crowd,
which was now pressing round the pianoforte at which Madame
Szczymplica had just come to the assistance of Jack. Near the door,
and in a corner remote from the instrument, he came upon Lydia and a
middle-aged gentleman, evidently neither a professor nor an artist.