"I am surprised you think so," answered Duncan, with a bantering expression in his eyes.
"Why?"
"Because I don't see how you reconcile so Anglican an institution as a drag with your patriotic sentiments."
"You forget that George Washington hunted, and had his clothes made in London."
"Then I am to infer that the highest type of patriot is he who rides to hounds and gets his coats on Hanover or Conduit Street."
"You are to infer that the highest type of patriot is not he who blusters sectional prejudice from under the shade of a slouch hat, but he who is sufficiently liberal to combine foreign excellencies with native virtues."
"You have a flow of expression which would do credit to a campaign orator," laughed Duncan. "For my part I don't believe in patriotism, at least in the sentimental sense of the word. Patriotism is a compound of pride and jealousy. Eliminate these two factors, to use an algebraic expression, and nothing remains."
"I fear we shall never agree on such questions," said Florence, anxious not to enter into a useless argument with Duncan.
"Perhaps, after all, it is my fault," answered Duncan with an expression of sadness in his eyes which seemed strange to Florence. "I wish I might believe in noble sentiment, but a man who has had his wings clipped in Wall Street is not the chap for sentiment."
"Perhaps you will change your mind one day," answered Florence.