"England," quoth he, gravely, "is the finest country in the world!"
The Atom's eyes and mouth opened incredulously; a swift rush of delicate pink dyed her face.
"You—you're forgettin' Ireland!" she gasped.
"Not at all. I believe Ireland's a very decent little place."
"Decent, is it?"—the Atom forgot her dusting—"I'm just s'prised a big boy like you should be such a—a hignoramous!"
She waited proudly, then pursued, her voice trembling with earnestness: "You're all the same—you English! You're jealous of us! You—oh, you're all stupid donkeys!"
It was a downfall from eloquence to rude vituperation. But she was, for the moment, beyond realisation of that. She stood waiting, her eyes shining. But interruption, in the form of Miss Kezia, broke in on Ted's answer, and the discussion had to be postponed for the present. Miss Kezia was somewhat amused, in a dry sort of way, at their room-cleaning. She shrugged her shoulders over it; if they liked to amuse themselves that way, it did no harm, and work never yet hurt anyone. She asked Ted to stay to luncheon, and he accepted. He seemed to enjoy the roast beef and jam roly pudding. He talked courteously to Miss Kezia, he skirmished with the Atom, but he avoided Nell's eyes.
Nell seemed absent-minded, sunk in thought. After luncheon in the hall she seized an opportunity and approached him.
"I—I want to beg your pardon," she said stiffly, "for—for that night—"
"Oh—ah—awfully good of you—good-bye! I say, O'Brien, you'll be late at the bank—I mean," glancing swiftly at her and away again, "not at all—of course—" He was out of the hall door, hustling in front of Denis, down the steps, and into the street.