‘Just as I am less extravagant than mine,’ cried Kilgobbin, ‘because I have not got it to spend.’
‘I hope Mademoiselle Nina judges us more mercifully,’ said Walpole.
‘Is that song a favourite of yours?’ asked she of Gorman, without noticing Walpole’s remark in any way.
‘No,’ said he bluntly; ‘it makes me feel like a fool, and, I am afraid, look like one too, when I hear it.’
‘I’m glad there’s even that much blood in you,’ cried old Kearney, who had caught the words. ‘Oh dear! oh dear! England need never be afraid of the young generation.’
‘That seems to be a very painful thought to you, sir,’ said Walpole.
‘And so it is,’ replied he. ‘The lower we bend, the more you’ll lay on us. It was your language, and what you call your civilisation, broke us down first, and the little spirit that fought against either is fast dying out of us.’
‘Do you want Mr. Walpole to become a Fenian, papa?’ asked Kate.
‘You see, they took him for one to-day,’ broke in Dick, ‘when they came and carried off all his luggage.’
‘By the way,’ interposed Walpole, ‘we must take care that that stupid blunder does not get into the local papers, or we shall have it circulated by the London press.’