“No, no; I never knew what my uncle's business was.”
“He is a merchant prince, Nora; an enormously rich man. He owns warehouses upon warehouses. He has offered me a post in one—a very good post, and a certain income.”
“And you mean to accept?” said Nora, her eyes flashing fire.
“Well, I am writing to mother on the subject. I think it would be well to do so.”
“You, an O'Shanaghgan, will descend to trade?” replied the girl.
“Oh, folly! folly! Nora, your ideas are really too antiquated.”
Nora did not speak at all for a moment; then she walked toward the door.
“I cannot understand you,” she said. “I am awfully sorry. I was born different; I was made different. I cannot understand why you should bring dishonor to the old place.”
“By earning a little money to keep us all from beggary,” retorted the lad in a bitter tone; but Nora did not hear him; she had left the room. Her eyes were smarting with unshed tears. She went out into the shrubbery in search of Molly.
“But for Molly I should break my heart,” she thought.