Christian was silent; she had not anticipated quite so direct an intervention in her personal affairs as was now being discovered, and she felt that her pearl was melting in the fierce solvent of Judith’s interest and curiosity.

“I know it’s a bore about his religion, and his politics are more than shaky, but you know, in a way, it’s rather lucky, in view of the mess Papa’s got everything into, to have someone on that side,” went on Judith, who was far too practical to be influenced by that malign Spirit of the Nation who had so persistently endeavoured to establish herself as one of the family at Mount Music.  “All I’m afraid of is that Papa may begin to beat the Protestant drum and wave the Union Jack!  Such nonsense!  The main thing is that Larry himself is quite all right!”

“I’m sure he would be gratified by your approval!” Judith’s patronage was somewhat galling; Judith, who was quite pleased with Bill Kirby!—­Good, excellent Bill, but still!  Christian’s colour betrayed her, and she knew it, and knowing also the remorseless cross-examination that the betrayal would immediately provoke, she decided to anticipate it.

“As a matter of fact,” she went on, “he—­we—­” she hated the crudity of the statement.

“You’re engaged!” swooped Judith, with the speed of a hawk.  “Excellent girl!”

Christian found the commendation offensive.

“I assure you it’s quite without either political or religious bias!” she said defiantly.  She had failed to keep her secret, but she went down with her flags flying.

CHAPTER XXIX

Barty Mangan fulfilled his father’s behests, and on Saturday, he drove his mother to Coppinger’s Court.

He drove a motor well; not brilliantly, like Larry, because Barty did nothing brilliantly, but capably and gently, with consideration for donkey-carts, with respect for horses, with kindness towards pedestrians, even without animosity towards cur-dogs.  The surprising aspect of the fact was that he should be able, in any degree, to handle a car, the control of energy being an effort foreign to his nature.  What in his mother was laziness, was with him transmuted to languor; his father’s vigour and decision became in Barty a sort of tepid obstinacy, and the Doctor’s fierce and fighting allegiance to his Church reappeared in his son as a peevish conscientiousness, that had provoked a friend of the family to say:  “Barty’s a dam’ bad solicitor!  He’ll take up no case but what pleases him, and he’ll touch nothing if he thinks he’ll make money out of it!”

“Ah!  He was always a fool for himself!” replied, heartily, Barty’s great-aunt, Mrs. Cantwell, to whom the comment had been offered.

One aspect of the practical affairs of life, and one only, had power to rouse Barty from the dreamy passivity which had excited Great-Aunt Cantwell’s contempt.  Where Ireland and Irish politics came into question, some deep spring of sentiment and enthusiasm in him was touched, and all the force that he was capable of became manifest.  All the strength and tenacity that were in him were concentrated in the cause of Nationalism; Ireland was his religion, and he felt himself to be one of her priesthood.