“But I have not. I don't know what you mean,” answered Terence.
“Oh, come, come, Nora!” said her uncle, patting her arm gently; but Nora's eyes blazed with fire.
“It's not a bit true,” she continued. “How can Aunt Grace think of that? The poor things have been driven to desperation, because—because their hearts have been trampled on.”
“For instance,” said Terence in a mocking voice, which fell like ice upon poor Nora's hot, indignant nature—“for instance, Andy Neil—he's a nice specimen, is he not?”
“Oh,” said Nora, “he—he is the exception. Don't talk of him, please.”
“That's just it,” said Terence, laughing. “Nora wants to give us all the sweets, and to conceal all the bitters. Now, I am honest, whatever I am.”
“Oh, are you?” said Nora, in indignation. “I should like to know,” she continued, “what kind of place you have represented Castle O'Shanaghgan to be.”
“I don't know why I should be obliged to answer to you for what I say, Nora,” cried her brother.
“You describe it now, Nora. We will hear your description,” said her uncle.
Nora sat quite still for a moment; then she raised her very dark-blue eyes.