"Oh!" said Henry.
"I thought she'd be certain to come. She seemed so anxious to join the class. Perhaps she was prevented. I hope you'll be able to come to-night, Henry!..."
Henry turned away impatiently. "I don't think I shall go again," he said in a surly voice.
Marsh stared at him. "Not go again!" he exclaimed.
"No."
"But!..."
"Oh, I'm sick of the class. I'm sick of the whole thing. I'm sick of Irish!..."
Marsh walked away from him, walked so quickly that Henry knew that he was trying to subdue the sudden rage that rose in him when people spoke slightingly of Irish things, and for a few moments he felt sorry and ready to follow him and apologise for what he had said; but the sorrow passed as quickly as it came.
"It's absurd of him to behave like that," he said to himself, and went on his way about the garden.
Presently he saw Marsh approaching him, and he stood still and waited for him.