"And what may that have been?" asked the governess eagerly, in English.
"Pourrie avant d'être mûre. Mûre, America is certainly far from being; but I am not disposed to accuse her yet of being quitepourrie."
"We had flattered ourselves," said Eve, a little reproachfully, "with having at last found a countryman in Mr. Powis."
"And how would that change the question? Or do you admit that an American can be no American, unless blind to the faults of the country, however great?"
"Would it be generous for a child to turn upon a parent that all others assail?"
"You put the case ingeniously, but scarcely with fairness. It is the duty of the parent to educate and correct the child, but it is the duty of the citizen to reform and improve the character of his country. How can the latter be done, if nothing but eulogies are dealt in? With foreigners, one should not deal too freely with the faults of his country, though even with the liberal among them one would wish to be liberal, for foreigners cannot repair the evil; but with one's countrymen I see little use and much danger, in observing a silence as to faults. The American, of all others, it appears to me, should be the boldest in denouncing the common and national vices, since he is one of those who, by the institutions themselves, has the power to apply the remedy."
"But America is an exception, I think, or perhaps it would be better to say I feel, since all other people deride at, mock her, and dislike her. You will admit this yourself, Sir George Templemore?"
"By no means: in England, now, I consider America to be particularly well esteemed."
Eve held up her pretty hands, and even Mademoiselle Viefville, usually so well-toned and self-restrained, gave a visible shrug.
"Sir George means in his country," dryly observed John Effingham.