“No, you won't; you must listen. I have got something most important to say.”
“Well, then, I will give you five minutes; not another moment. I know you, Nora; you always exaggerate things. You are an Irishwoman to your backbone.”
“I am, and I glory in the fact.”
“You ought to be ashamed to glory in it. Don't you want to have anything to do with mother and her relations?”
“I love my mother, but I am glad I don't take after her,” said Nora; “yes, I am glad.”
The moon shone on the two young faces, and Nora looked up at her brother; he put on a supercilious smile, and folded his arms across his broad chest.
“Yes,” she replied; “and I should like to shake you for looking like that. I am glad I am Irish through and through and through. Would I give my warm heart and my enthusiasm for your coldness and deliberation?”
“Good gracious, Nora, what a little ignorant thing you are! Do you suppose no Englishman has enthusiasm?”
“We'll drop the subject,” said Nora. “It is one I won't talk of; it puts me into such a boiling rage to see you sitting like that.”
Terence did not speak at all for a moment; then he said quietly: