‘A young girl, sir,’ replied Gorman, ‘who, by a great effort, has rallied herself to dispel her sorrow and be merry, suddenly remembers that her sweetheart may not love her, and the more she dwells on the thought, the more firmly she believes it. That was the cry, “He never loved me,” that went to all our hearts.’ ‘Faith, then, if Nina has to say that,’ said the old man, ‘Heaven help the others.’ ‘Indeed, uncle, you are more gallant than all these young gentlemen,’ said Nina, rising and approaching him. ‘Why they are not all at your feet this moment is more than I can tell. They’re always telling me the world is changed, and I begin to see it now.’ ‘I suspect, sir, it’s pretty much what it used to be,’ lisped out Walpole. ‘We are only less demonstrative than our fathers.’ ‘Just as I am less extravagant than mine,’ cried Kilgobbin, ‘because I have not got it to spend.’ ‘I hope Mademoiselle Nina judges us more mercifully,’ said Walpole. ‘Is that song a favourite of yours?’ asked she of Gorman, without noticing Walpole’s remark in any way. ‘No,’ said he bluntly; ‘it makes me feel like a fool, and, I am afraid, look like one too, when I hear it.’ ‘I’m glad there’s even that much blood in you,’ cried old Kearney, who had caught the words. ‘Oh dear! oh dear! England need never be afraid of the young generation.’ ‘That seems to be a very painful thought to you, sir,’ said Walpole. ‘And so it is,’ replied he. ‘The lower we bend, the more you’ll lay on us. It was your language, and what you call your civilisation, broke us down first, and the little spirit that fought against either is fast dying out of us.’ ‘Do you want Mr. Walpole to become a Fenian, papa?’ asked Kate. ‘You see, they took him for one to-day,’ broke in Dick, ‘when they came and carried off all his luggage.’ ‘By the way,’ interposed Walpole, ‘we must take care that that stupid blunder does not get into the local papers, or we shall have it circulated by the London press.’ ‘I have already thought of that,’ said Dick, ‘and I shall go into Moate to-morrow and see about it.’ ‘Does that mean to say that you desert croquet?’ said Nina imperiously. ‘You have got Lieutenant O’Shea in my place, and a better player than me already.’ ‘I fear I must take my leave to-morrow,’ said Gorman, with a touch of real sorrow, for in secret he knew not whither he was going. ‘Would your aunt not spare you to us for a few days?’ said the old man. ‘I am in no favour with her just now, but she would scarcely refuse what we would all deem a great favour.’ ‘My aunt would not think the sacrifice too much for her,’ said Gorman, trying to laugh at the conceit. ‘You shall stay,’ murmured Nina, in a tone only audible to him; and by a slight bow he acknowledged the words as a command. ‘I believe my best way,’ said Gorman gaily, ‘will be to outstay my leave, and take my punishment, whatever it be, when I go back again.’