“By the mother’s side I am, sir,” replied Count Altenberg. “I may boast that I am at least half an Englishman.”
“Half is better than the whole,” said French Clay, scornfully.
“By the Lord, I could have sworn his mother, or some of his blood, was English!” cried English Clay. “I beg your pardon, ma’am—‘fraid I annoy your ladyship?” added he, perceiving that the Lady Anne haughtily retreated from his offending elbow.
Then sensible of having committed himself by his sudden burst of feeling, he coloured all over, took up his tea, drank as if he wished to hide his face for ever in the cup, recovered his head with mighty effort, turned round again to his newspaper, and was cold and silent as before. His brother meanwhile was, or affected to be, more intent upon some eau sucrée, that he was preparing for himself, than upon the fate of the army and navy of Spain or England. Rising from the breakfast table, he went into the adjoining room, and threw himself at full length upon a sofa; Lady Frances Arlington, who detested politics, immediately followed, and led the way to a work-table, round which the ladies gathered, and formed themselves in a few minutes into a committee of dress, all speaking at once; Count Altenberg went with the ladies out of the breakfast-room, where English Clay would have been happy to have remained alone; but being interrupted by the entrance of the servants, he could not enjoy peaceable possession, and he was compelled also to follow:—getting as far as he could from the female committee, he took Petcalf into a window to talk of horses, and commenced a history of the colts of Regulus, and of the plates they had won.
French Clay, rising from the sofa, and adjusting his cravat at a looking-glass, carelessly said, addressing himself to Count Altenberg, “I think, M. le Comte, I heard you say something about public feelings. Now, I do not comprehend precisely what is meant by public feelings; for my part, I am free to confess that I have none.”
“I certainly must have expressed myself ill,” replied Count Altenberg; “I should have said, love of our country.”
Mrs. Percy, Rosamond, and Caroline, escaped from the committee of dress, were now eagerly listening to this conversation.
“And if you had, M. le Comte, I might, en philosophe, have been permitted to ask,” replied French Clay, “what is love of our country, but a mere prejudice? and to a person of an emancipated mind, that word prejudice says volumes. Assuredly M. le Comte will allow, and must feel well, that no prejudice ever was or can be useful to mankind.”
The Count fully admitted that utility is the best human test by which all sentiment, as well as every thing else, can be tried: but he observed that Mr. Clay had not yet proved love of our country to be a useless or pernicious principle of action: and by his own argument, if it can be proved to be useful, it should not be called, in the invidious sense of the word, a prejudice.
“True—but the labour of the proof fortunately rests with you, M. le Comte.”