‘I hardly like to repeat it. An insult to a poor dying creature seems impossible, doesn’t it, Mr. Crosby? But I heard him myself. After all, why should not I speak? One ought to expose monsters. My dear’—to Susan—‘Lady Millbank had called to ask how Miss Blake was—at least, I suppose it was for that purpose—but she mumbles so, on account of those false teeth of hers, no doubt, that I scarcely heard what she was saying. But I did hear what Dr. Mulcahy said to her a moment afterwards. He was speaking of poor dear Kate Blake, and I distinctly heard him say she was “low”!’ Miss Barry pauses dramatically, but, beyond a smothered sound from Dom, nothing is heard. ‘Aren’t you shocked, Susan, or must I believe that the young people of this generation are devoid of feeling. A Mulcahy to call a Blake “low”! It struck me as so abominable a piece of impertinence that I went away on the instant. I don’t know, of course, how Lady Millbank took it, but I hope she put down that insolent man without hesitation. Fancy a Blake being called “low”! Why, poor dear Kate! she is as well born as ourselves.’ ‘But, auntie—’ ‘Nonsense, my dear! Don’t talk to me. You children would find an excuse for anyone.’ ‘It was only that I think he meant that she was not so very well—’ ‘Born? Not so well born as the rest of us? You must be mad, Susan! A creature like Dr. Mulcahy to talk of birth at all is absurd. Why, his father was a draper in Dublin. But that he should cavil at Kate Blake’s birth is outrageous. Why, the Blakes—’ She stops, as if overcome by wrath, and Dom takes up the parable. ‘I thought you knew, Susan,’ says he reproachfully, but in a cautious tone, heard only by the youngsters of the party, ‘that it was poor Miss Blake’s forefather who planted that tree of good and evil over which Adam came such a cropper.’ After this it is a relief to everybody when Miss Barry, with a singularly brief farewell to Crosby, betakes herself to the house. It is quite as well she has gone so soon, as Carew and Dominick were in the last stages of convulsive laughter, and could not certainly have held out much longer. ‘I say, isn’t Aunt Jemima a regular corker?’ says Dom presently, addressing everybody in general. ‘She didn’t understand,’ says Susan, who feels a little sorry that her aunt should appear in so poor a light before a man like Crosby, who is, of course, accustomed to a fashionable world and its ways. ‘I think she has a very kind heart,’ says he promptly, seeing her distress and smothering the laughter that is consuming him. ‘Of course, she had no idea that the doctor was alluding to Miss Blake’s state of health.’ ‘You knew,’ says Susan, with a touch of indignation, turning to Carew. ‘Why didn’t you make it clear to her?’ ‘Why, indeed?’ retorts he. ‘You tried to do it, and how did you come off? Catch me explaining her mistakes to Aunt Jemima. More kicks than ha’pence for my pains.’