“Possibly so, young lady, if not accompanied by the accessories of your rank in life,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily; “and as to college honors,” added she, after a pause, “they are like school distinctions, of no earthly value out of the class-room.” “Faith, I don't know that,” said Martin. “At least, in my own experience, I can say, every fellow that has made a figure in life gave indications of high ability in his college years. I could go over the names of at least a dozen.” “Pray don't, sir,--spare your memory, and spare us. Miss Martin and I will take it for granted that this young man is destined to be Lord Chancellor,--Ambassador at St. Petersburg,--or anything else you please. I have no doubt that the time is approaching when such things are very possible.” “It has come already, my Lady,” said Martin; and in the manner he uttered the words there was no saying whether the sentiment was pleasurable or the reverse. “And yet I trust that there is a little interval still left to us ere that consummation,” said she, with pretentious dignity. “Birth and blood have not lost all their _prestige!_” “But they soon would,” said Mary, “if they feared to enter the lists against those less well-born than themselves.” “Miss Martin!” exclaimed her Ladyship, “what words are these?” “I hope they are void of offence, aunt. Assuredly I never conceived that I could wound any susceptibilities here by saying that the well-born are ready to meet the plebeian on any ground.” “There is no necessity for such trials, Miss Martin; the position of each has been so accurately defined by--by--by Providence,” said she, at last, blushing slightly as she uttered the word, “that the contest is almost impossible.” “The French Revolution reveals another story, aunt, and tells us, besides, how inferior were the nobles of that country in the day of struggle.” “Upon my word, these are very pretty notions, young lady. Have they been derived from the intelligent columns of the “Galway Monitor,” or are they the teachings of the gifted Mr. Scanlan? Assuredly, Mr. Martin,” said she, turning to him, “papa was right, when he said that the Irish nature was essentially rebellious.” “Complimentary, certainly,” said Martin, laughing. “He founded the remark on history. Papa was uncommonly well read, and used to observe that there seemed something in the Celtic nature incompatible with that high-souled, chivalrous loyalty Englishmen exhibit.” “But how much of the Celt have Mary and myself got in us, if your observation is meant for us? Why, my Lady, what with intermarriage centuries ago, and change of blood ever since, the distinctive element has been utterly lost.” “And yet we are not English, uncle,” said Mary, with something that smacked of pride. “Confess it: we have our nationality, and that our people have traits of their own.” “That they have; but I never heard them made matter of boastfulness before,” said Lady Dorothea, sneeringly.