She gave a wild Irish horroo.

She put the fiddle in Triplet's hand.
"The wind that shakes the barley, ye divil!" cried she.
Triplet went _hors de lui;_ he played like Paganini, or an intoxicated demon.

Woffington covered the buckle in gallant style; she danced, the children danced.

Triplet fiddled and danced, and flung his limbs in wild dislocation: the wineglasses danced; and last, Mrs.Triplet was observed to be bobbing about on her sofa, in a monstrous absurd way, droning out the tune, and playing her hands with mild enjoyment, all to herself.
Woffington pointed out this pantomimic soliloquy to the two boys, with a glance full of fiery meaning.

This was enough.