“Well, aunt, it is not too late to hear it now; and I, for one, am proud of my country,--not of its political station, for it is dependent,--not of its wealth, for it is poor,--but of its genial courtesy, its free-hearted hospitality, its manly patience under many a crushing calamity, and not least of all, its gallantry on every field where England has won honor.” “I have read of all these things; but my own experiences are limited to the rags and restlessness of a semi-barbarous people. Nay, Miss Martin, I'm not going to discuss the matter. I have lived elsewhere,--you have not. I have acquired habits--prejudices, perhaps you 'd call them--in behalf of twenty things that Irish civilization sees no need of.” “Would it not be kind, aunt, were you to aid us by the light of these same experiences?” said Mary, with an air of well-assumed humility. “Certainly not, at the price of intercourse with the natives!” exclaimed her Ladyship, haughtily. “I detest, on principle, the Lady Bountiful character. The whole of the hymn-book, castor-oil, and patent-barley sympathy is shockingly vulgar. Like many things, well done at first, it fell into low hands, and got spoiled.” The tone of sarcasm in which this was spoken made Mary's cheeks crimson, and the flush spread itself over her neck. Still she made no reply, but bending down her head, continued to work more assiduously. “When are we to leave this place, Mr. Martin?” asked her Ladyship, abruptly. “I believe we are only waiting here till it be your pleasure to quit.” “And I dying to get away this fortnight past! Some one certainly told me that Cro' Martin was not ready for us. Was it _you_, Miss Martin?” “No, aunt.” “It ran in my head it was you, then. Well, can we go at once--to-day--this afternoon?” “To-morrow we might, perhaps,” said Mary. “Scarcely so,” said Martin, interposing, “seeing that I have asked Repton to come down here and see the place.” “But you can drive him over from Cro' Martin. It would be intolerable, the idea of remaining here just for him. So we shall go to-morrow, Miss Martin.” And with this, uttered in the tone of an order, her Ladyship swept proudly out of the room, from which Martin, not overanxious for a _tête-à-tête_ with his niece, stepped noiselessly at the same moment by another door. Scarcely had the door closed behind Lady Dorothea, when it was reopened to admit Joe Nelligan, who had met her Ladyship in the corridor and been received with such palpable coldness of manner that he entered the room bashful and awkward, and hardly knowing whether to advance or retire. “I fear I have made my visit at an untimely hour, Miss Martin,” said he, blushing; “but the truth is, I know next to nothing of society and its habits, and if you would only be kind enough to tell me when I am a transgressor--”