“Upon my conscience, I sometimes think they 're worse than the Jews,” said the Member, violently; “and there's no being 'up to them.'”
“It's our own fault, then,” cried Heathcote; “because we never play fairly with them.”
“Bosh!” muttered O'Shea, again.
“I defy you to deny it,” cried he, angrily.
“I 'd like a five-pound note to argue it either way,” said O'Shea.
As if offended by the levity of the speech, Heathcote turned away and said nothing.
“When you get down to Rome, and have some fun over those ox-fences, you 'll forget all about her, whoever she is,” said O'Shea.
“I'm for England to-morrow, and for India next week, if they 'll have me.”
“Well, if that's not madness—”
“No, sir, it is not,” broke in Heathoote, angrily; “nor will I permit you or any other man to call it so.”