Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to please him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly natural, in a subject on which he would like to talk.
“I’m afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would weary you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about politics.”
“I assure you, no,” she said. “In France we found politics most exciting. The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too exciting. Do tell me about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also sans-culottes?”
“They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans, who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them.”
“Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were——But is not Maurice’s friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea with Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he was the son of a curé.”
“Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as I know.”
The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be considering Lord Dunseveric’s last remark. When she spoke again it was evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward’s politics to another subject.
“Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate with Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age.”
“Oh, they’ve played together since they were children. Young Ward is a nice boy and a good sportsman.”
“Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?”