‘Because we are all snobs, Kitty; because there is not a bit of honesty or manliness in our nature; and because our women, that need not be bargaining or borrowing--neither pawnbrokers nor usurers--are just as vulgar-minded as ourselves; and now that we have given twenty millions to get rid of slavery, like to show how they can keep it up in the old country, just out of defiance.’ ‘If you disapprove of Mr. Walpole, sir, I believe it is full time you should say so.’ ‘I neither approve nor disapprove of him. I don’t well know whether I have any right to do either--I mean so far as to influence her choice. He belongs to a sort of men I know as little about as I do of the Choctaw Indians. They have lives and notions and ways all unlike ours. The world is so civil to them that it prepares everything to their taste. If they want to shoot, the birds are cooped up in a cover, and only let fly when they’re ready. When they fish, the salmon are kept prepared to be caught; and if they make love, the young lady is just as ready to rise to the fly, and as willing to be bagged as either. Thank God, my darling, with all our barbarism, we have not come to that in Ireland.’ ‘Here comes Mr. Walpole now, sir; and if I read his face aright, he has something of importance to say to you.’ Kate had barely time to leave the room as Walpole came forward with an open telegram and a mass of papers in his hand. ‘May I have a few moments of conversation with you?’ said he; and in the tone of his words, and a certain gravity in his manner, Kearney thought he could perceive what the communication portended. ‘I am at your orders,’ said Kearney, and he placed a chair for the other. ‘An incident has befallen my life here, Mr. Kearney, which, I grieve to say, may not only colour the whole of my future career, but not impossibly prove the barrier to my pursuit of public life.’ Kearney stared at him as he finished speaking, and the two men sat fixedly gazing on each other. ‘It is, I hasten to own, the one unpleasant, the one, the only one, disastrous event of a visit full of the happiest memories of my life. Of your generous and graceful hospitality, I cannot say half what I desire--’ ‘Say nothing about my hospitality,’ said Kearney, whose irritation as to what the other called a disaster left him no place for any other sentiment; ‘but just tell me why you count this a misfortune.’ ‘I call a misfortune, sir, what may not only depose me from my office and my station, but withdraw entirely from me the favour and protection of my uncle, Lord Danesbury.’ ‘Then why the devil do you do it?’ cried Kearney angrily. ‘Why do I do what, sir? I am not aware of any action of mine you should question with such energy.’ ‘I mean, if it only tends to ruin your prospects and disgust your family, why do you persist, sir? I was going to say more, and ask with what face you presume to come and tell these things to _me_?’ ‘I am really unable to understand you, sir.’