'She 's a new bird; she nodded to my wife; I'll ask.' He manoeuvred a few steps cleverly to where his wife reposed.

The information he gathered for the behoof of his chief was, that the handsome creature answered to the name of Miss Merion; Irish; aged somewhere between eighteen and nineteen; a dear friend of his wife's, and he ought to have remembered her; but she was a child when he saw her last.
'Dan Merion died, I remember, about the day of my sailing for India,' said the General.

'She may be his daughter.' The bright cynosure rounded up to him in the web of the waltz, with her dark eyes for Lady Dunstane, and vanished again among the twisting columns.
He made his way, handsomely bumped by an apologetic pair, to Lady Dunstane, beside whom a seat was vacated for him; and he trusted she had not over-fatigued herself.
'Confess,' she replied, 'you are perishing to know more than Lukin has been able to tell you.

Let me hear that you admire her: it pleases me; and you shall hear what will please you as much, I promise you, General.' 'I do.

Who wouldn't ?' said he frankly.
'She crossed the Channel expressly to dance here tonight at the public Ball in honour of you.' 'Where she appears, the first person falls to second rank, and accepts it humbly.' 'That is grandly spoken.' 'She makes everything in the room dust round a blazing jewel.' 'She makes a poet of a soldier.