‘And don’t you like his song, Mr. Walpole!’
‘What, “The Wearing of the Green”? It was the dreariest dirge I ever listened to.’
‘Come, you shall not say so. When we go into the drawing-room, Nina shall sing it for you, and I’ll wager you recant your opinion.’
‘And do you sing rebel canticles, Mademoiselle Kostalergi?’
‘Yes, I do all my cousin bids me. I wear a red cloak. How is it called?’
‘Connemara?’
Nina nodded.
‘That’s the name, but I’m not going to say it; and when we go abroad—that is, on the bog there, for a walk—we dress in green petticoats and wear very thick shoes.’
‘And, in a word, are very generally barbarous.’
‘Well, if you be really barbarians,’ said Walpole, filling his glass, ‘I wonder what I would not give to be allowed to join the tribe.’