“How odd it is,” exclaimed Vincent suddenly, “that I should ever have taken you for a Papist!”
“A Papist!” repeated Clemence in a little surprise.
“Why, Aunt Selina told us that your grandmother was a Frenchwoman.”
“And so she was, but not a Romanist.”
Vincent’s countenance fell. “So you’re partly French, after all,” cried he; “I’m sorry for that, for I hate the French.”
“Should we hate anything but sin?” said Clemence softly.
“I’m a regular John Bull!” cried Vincent, “and I don’t care if all the world knew it! Britannia for ever, say I!”
“You cannot love old England better than I do,” said Clemence; “but patriotism is one thing, and prejudice another.”
“What do you call prejudice?” asked Vincent.
“The determination to dislike some one or something before judgment has had time to decide whether it merit your dislike or not. Surely this is neither reasonable nor right!”