“And so

“And so, Miss Nugent,” said he, not daring, with all his assurance, to address himself directly to Lady Clonbrony, “and so, Miss Nugent, you are going to have great doings, I’m told, and a wonderful grand gala. There’s nothing in the wide world equal to being in a good handsome crowd. No later now than the last ball at the Castle, that was before I left Dublin, Miss Nugent, the apartments, owing to the popularity of my lady lieutenant, was so throng — so throng — that I remember very well, in the doorway, a lady — and a very genteel woman she was, too — though a stranger to me, saying to me, ‘Sir, your finger’s in my ear.’—‘I know it, madam,” says I; ‘but I can’t take it out till the crowd give me elbow-room.’
“But it’s the gala I’m thinking of now — I hear you are to have the golden Venus, my Lady Clonbrony, won’t you?”
“Sir!”
This freezing monosyllable notwithstanding, Sir Terence pursued his course fluently. “The golden Venus!— sure, Miss Nugent, you that are so quick, can’t but know I would apostrophize Miss Broadhurst that is — but that won’t be long so, I hope. My Lord Colambre, have you seen much yet of that young lady?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I hope you won’t be long so. I hear great talk now of the Venus of Medici, and the Venus of this and that, with the Florence Venus, and the sable Venus, and that other Venus, that’s washing of her hair, and a hundred other Venuses, some good, some bad. But, be that as it will, my lord, trust a fool — ye may, when he tells you truth — the golden Venus is the only one on earth that can stand, or that will stand, through all ages and temperatures; for gold rules the court, gold rules the camp, and men below, and heaven above.”
“Heaven above!— Take care, Terry! Do you know what you are saying?” interrupted Lord Clonbrony.
“Do I?— Don’t I?” replied Terry. “Deny, if you please, my lord, that it was for a golden pippin that the three goddesses fit— and that the Hippomenes was about golden apples — and did not Hercules rob a garden for golden apples?— and did not the pious ?neas himself take a golden branch with him to make himself welcome to his father in hell?” said Sir Terence, winking at Lord Colambre.
“Why, Terry, you know more about books than I should have suspected,” said Lord Clonbrony.
“Nor you would not have suspected me to have such a great acquaintance among the goddesses neither, would you, my lord? But, apropos, before we quit, of what material, think ye, was that same Venus’s famous girdle, now, that made roses and lilies so quickly appear? Why, what was it but a girdle of sterling gold, I’ll engage?— for gold is the only true thing for a young man to look after in a wife.”
Sir Terence paused, but no applause ensued.
“Let them talk of Cupids and darts, and the mother of the Loves and Graces — Minerva may sing odes and dythambrics, or whatsoever her wisdomship pleases. Let her sing, or let her say, she’ll never get a husband, in this world or the other, without she had a good thumping fortin, and then she’d go off like wildfire.”
“No, no, Terry, there you’re out: Minerva has too bad a character for learning to be a favourite with gentlemen,” said Lord Clonbrony.