“Nationalists!” roared the Major, sitting upright in his chair, and panting, his utterance temporarily checked by the sheer pressure of all that he wished to say.  “Don’t talk to me of Nationalists!  Common thieves!  That’s all they are!  There’s no Nationalism about them!  Call it Socialism, if you like, or any other name for robbery!  They’d look very blue if we took to shouting ’Ireland a Nation!’ and expecting to come in at the finish!  They mightn’t be able to call us English invaders and to steal our property then!  English!  I’ve got Brian Boroihme in my pedigree and that’s more than they can say!  A pack of half-bred descendants of Cromwell’s soldiers!  That’s what they are, and the best of them, too!  That’s the best drop of blood they’ve got!” Dick shouted, veering in the wind of his own words like a rudderless ship in a storm.  “That’s what gives them tenacity and bigotry!  Look at the old places that they’re squeezing the old families out of!  It’s the Protestant farmers and the Religious Orders that are getting them, swarming into them like rats!  Don’t tell me that I and my family aren’t a better asset to any country than a lot of fat, lazy Monks and Nuns!”

“But, Papa, they’re not all fat!” said Judith, beginning to laugh.

“Deuce a many of them’s thin for want of plenty to eat!” returned Dick, with the confidence of a man whose faith in his theories has never been interfered with by investigation.  He was recovering his temper, having enjoyed the delivery of his diatribe; and the fact that he had not only silenced Judith but had tickled her to a laugh, restored his sense of domination.

Poor old King Canute, with the tide by this time well above the tops of his hunting-boots, and all the familiar landmarks becoming submerged, one after the other!  It may be easy to deride him, but it is hard not to pity him.

This was on Monday, and Christian returned from her week-end visit that evening.  Judith stayed, and went with Christian to her room.

“Well, my dear,” she began, eagerly, as the door closed, “when are you going to announce it?”

Christian sat down on her bed.  She was looking very tired.

“Never, I think!”

Without paying attention to Judith’s exclamation she took a newspaper out of the pocket of her top-coat, and handed it to her sister.

“This is this evening’s paper.  I got it at the Junction.  Read that.”  She pointed to a paragraph.

Judith read it; then she dropped the paper, and gazed at Christian with dramatic consternation.

“The idiot!” she said, at length.  “Couldn’t you stop him?”

“He had promised years ago.  I didn’t try.  He couldn’t break his word.”

“Oh, rot!” said Judith, briefly.

“You know he couldn’t, Judy.”

“Well, you know, this will finish him with Papa,” said Judith, gloomily.  “He’s bad enough as it is about the sales to the tenants, and I was prepared for rows over the religious business, of course, but this!  Can’t you”