“I’ve no doubt that I should be, as you put it, well received. I’m not afraid that His Excellency would show me the cold shoulder, but the present condition of the country is critical. I think it my duty to stay at home. I am afraid that we are on the brink of an attempt at revolution.” “_Mon dieu!_ And have you Jacobins, too? I thought there were no such things in Ireland. Tell me about your Jacobins.” Again Lord Dunseveric was conscious that the Comtesse was trying to please him, was displaying an interest, which did not seem wholly natural, in a subject on which he would like to talk. “I’m afraid, Estelle, that an account of our Irish politics would weary you. Politics are dull. You would send me away if I talked about politics.” “I assure you, no,” she said. “In France we found politics most exciting. The poor Comte, my husband, found them altogether too exciting. Do tell me about your Irish Jacobins. Are they also _sans-culottes?_” “They are mostly Presbyterians, dour, pigheaded, fanatical Republicans, who want to get an army of your French friends over to help them.” “Presbyterians! How droll! I thought Presbyterians were----But is not Maurice’s friend, the young man who goes out fishing in the sea with Una, is not he a Presbyterian? I think they said last night that he was the son of a _curé_.” “Yes, he is. His father has the reputation of being one of the most fanatical of the whole lot. But the young fellow is all right, so far as I know.” The Comtesse was silent for a minute or two. She appeared to be considering Lord Dunseveric’s last remark. When she spoke again it was evident that her thoughts had wandered from Neal Ward’s politics to another subject. “Is it right, do you think, that this young man should be so intimate with Una? She is a very attractive girl, and at a very dangerous age.” “Oh, they’ve played together since they were children. Young Ward is a nice boy and a good sportsman.” “Still, he would not be suitable. Am I right?” “If you mean that he wouldn’t do as a husband for Una, you are right, but I don’t think for a moment that any such nonsensical idea ever crossed their minds. I like Neal. He’s a fine, straightforward boy, and a good sportsman.” “I should like to see this model young man. Perhaps you English--pardon me, my dear brother, you Irish--are differently made; but with us the nicer a young man is the more dangerous we reckon him.” “There’s no difficulty about your meeting him. I’ll ask him to dinner to-day if you like. I’m sure Maurice will be pleased to ride over with the invitation.” “Charming,” said the Comtesse. “Then I shall judge for myself.”