"He Hoped To Arrive Before Any One Else," Francesca Went On, "And
Put The Harp In A Nice Place, And Lead Patricia Up To It, And Make
Her Wonder Who Sent It.
Now poor dear (yes, his name is sure to be
Terence), he is too late, and I am sure he will leave it in the
hansom, he will be so embarrassed."
And so he did, but alas! the driver came back with it in an instant,
the butler ran down the long path of crimson carpet that covered the
sidewalk, the first footman assisted, the second footman pursued
Terence and caught him on the staircase, and he descended
reluctantly, only to receive the harp in his arms and send a tip to
the cabman, whom of course he was cursing in his heart.
"I can't think why he should give her a harp," mused Bertie
Godolphin. "Such a rum thing, a harp, isn't it? It's too heavy for
her to 'tote,' as you say in the States."
"Yes, we always say 'tote,' particularly in the North," I replied;
"but perhaps it is Patricia's favourite instrument. Perhaps Terence
first saw her at the harp, and loved her from the moment he heard
her sing the 'Minstrel Boy' and the 'Meeting of the Waters.'"
"Perhaps he merely brought it as a sort of symbol," suggested Mr.
Beresford; "a kind of flowery metaphor signifying that all Ireland,
in his person, is at her disposal, only waiting to be played upon."
"If that is what he means, he must be a jolly muff," remarked the
Honourable Arthur.
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