"Is it not remarkable," said Josephine to her parent, "that polish and purify as you may, you cannot cure an Irishman of vulgarity? Irish he is, and Irish he will remain to the end of the chapter."
"Dermott behaves very decently, does he not? His letters of recommendation—introduction, I would say, describe him as a pattern gentleman."
Josephine lifted her brows. "It is a misfortune to be fastidious; my education has rendered me so. I cannot tolerate slang or abuse, especially when directed at a superior in politeness, if not in assurance."
"What now?" demanded Mr. Read, impatiently; and Ida, unable to hear more in silence, started up from the table.
"Wait, if you please," said Josephine, with that metallic glitter of her grey eyes. "I wish you to repeat your friend's reply to Mr. Pemberton, when he was the bearer of a civil message from me."
"I heard no message of that description," retorted Ida, unmoved.
"He did not repeat a line of poetry, and ask the author's name, I presume?"
"He did."
"And you furnished the required information?"