“Perfectly, Mr. O’Melaghlin. And I think you are quite right,” warmly responded Palma.
“I thank you, ma’am, for your indorsement of my judgment. And now, my dear young lady, will you oblige me in one small matter?” he gravely inquired.
“In anything, great or small, that lies within my power, Mr. O’Melaghlin,” smiled Palma.
“Then, my dear young lady, will you graciously drop the ‘mister’ before my name?”
Palma looked up in questioning surprise.
“I will explain, my dear madam. The O’Melaghlins have been The O’Melaghlins from time immemorial, as I had the honor to tell you before. They were monarchs of Meath for many centuries; but they were never ‘mister,’ like any ordinary Smith, Jones, or Brown, or Anybody. So, my fair kinswoman, you will please to oblige me by dropping that little prefix to my old historic name.”
“But, Mr.—I beg pardon. But, sir, if I must not call you ‘mister,’ how shall I address you or speak of you?” inquired the bewildered young woman.
“Simply as O’Melaghlin, or The O’Melaghlin. My dear, how would you speak of or address Julius Cæsar, Marc Antony, or Alexander the Great? Would you say ‘Mr.’ Julius Cæsar? ‘Mr.’ Marc Antony? No, you would not. And no more should you say Mr. O’Melaghlin. There are family names, my dear lady, that outrank not only the little prefix of ‘mister,’ but all titles, and such a name is that of The O’Melaghlin,” solemnly concluded the chieftain.
“Very well, O’Melaghlin,” laughed Palma, “I will hereafter always remember to call you O’Melaghlin, though, indeed, it will make me feel like a very fast young woman, and just as if I had a jockey cap on my head and a cigar in my mouth.”
“I wish to be enlightened,” said Stuart, with a smile. “You call me ‘Wolfscliff.’ Why, upon the same principle, do you not call yourself Arghalee?”