“Which you know?” said Frank, interrogatively.
“Which I guess at,” said Ravitzky.
“Here is your letter, cadet,” said Frank, banding it back to him. “I see you will not make a confidant of me, and I will not force a confession.”
Ravitzky took the letter, and, saluting with respect, was about to fall back, when Frank said,——
“I wish you would be frank with me, and explain this mystery.”
“You call it mystery, sir?” said the other, in astonishment “You are an Irishman born, and call this a mystery?”
“And why not? What has my birth to do with it?”
“Simply that it might have taught the explanation. Is it truth, or am I deceived in believing that your nation is neither well received nor kindly met by the prouder country with which you are united; and that, save when you stoop to blush at your nationality, you are never recognized as claimant for either office or advancement?”
“This may have been the case once to some extent,” said Frank, doubtingly, “but I scarcely think such differences exist now.”
“Then you are more fortunate than we,” said Ravitzky.