‘Why, to be addressed in this fashion? The Honourable Richard Kearney, Trinity College, Dublin.’
‘It is from my sister,’ said Kearney, as he took the letter impatiently from his hand; ‘and I can only tell you, if she had addressed me otherwise, I’d not have opened her letter.’
‘But come now, old fellow, don’t lose temper about it. You have a right to this designation, or you have not—’
‘I’ll spare all your eloquence by simply saying, that I do not look on you as a Committee of Privilege, and I’m not going to plead before you. Besides,’ added he, ‘it’s only a few minutes ago you asked me to credit you for something you have not shown yourself to be, but that you intended and felt that the world should see you were, one of these days.’
‘So, then, you really mean to bring your claim before the Lords?’
Kearney, if he heard, did not heed this question, but went on to read his letter. ‘Here’s a surprise!’ cried he. ‘I was telling you, the other day, about a certain cousin of mine we were expecting from Italy.’
‘The daughter of that swindler, the mock prince?’
‘The man’s character I’ll not stand up for, but his rank and title are alike indisputable,’ said Kearney haughtily.
‘With all my heart. We have soared into a high atmosphere all this day, and I hope my respiration will get used to it in time. Read away!’
It was not till after a considerable interval that Kearney had recovered composure enough to read, and when he did so it was with a brow furrowed with irritation:—