"Before dinner. I found her haranguing my maid upon the wrongs of 'ould Ireland,' and upon the privilege I enjoyed of sleeping in the bed which had been occupied by 'the biggest Irish pathriot, barrin' Misther Parnell,' a few days ago. When I entered, she continued in the same strain, and assured me, 'There is nothin' changed but the sheets since the blessed man lay here—an' sure y'r dreams will be all the sweeter, miss, for knowin' it.'"
Mrs. Barham and Saul laughed heartily; Mr. Barham alone was silent. When he spoke, it was to say, gravely,
"One cannot expect English persons to feel as we do on this subject. Few take a dispassionate view of questions that touch their own interests."
"Very few," said his son, smiling. "You were an abolitionist because you were a Northerner, and did not possess slaves. Rives from New Orleans, who is ruined, swears the colored people were far happier, more prosperous, better educated and cared for, in a state of slavery than they now are. It all depends, as you say, on the point of view."
"I am no politician," said Grace, "but I was in Ireland five years ago, and again last year, and I was struck with the improved aspect of the people, of the land, of everything, since Mr. Balfour's reign. That is the only 'point of view' I have, but I dare say I am quite wrong. Women have capital instincts—I think my own instincts about people are almost unerring; but my opinions on other subjects are generally worth nothing. My aunt always says so."
"That is, no doubt, when they differ from hers," observed Saul, with a smile.
"My aunt is a very clever woman, with decided views about everything in heaven above and in the earth beneath. She cannot tolerate compromise, or shilly-shallying, or weakness of any kind. She often upbraids me for not disliking people more cordially than I do. If I don't like them, they are indifferent to me. So few seem worth hating—at least, judged by the aspect they present to the world. Of course, one may entertain murderers, as well as angels, unawares."
"You hated Lady Clydesdale, I think—just a little? I hear she is in Boston."
"I hope I sha'n't meet her. Is she popular there?"
"She is a clever woman in her way, and holds the same views that some of our advanced women do—only samer. Then she is a countess." Here he smiled. "Well, now, you have an English countess coming with the most democratic and subversive ideas among us stanch republicans. You must confess there is something fascinating about it."