Her eyes were glued to her plate. But
the impression made on the others, not excepting the dependent buckeens
who sat at the board a little apart and took no part in the talk, was
so apparent that an onlooker must have laughed at their bewilderment.
Even Uncle Ulick, whom a steady good humour had steered clear of many a
brawl--so that a single meeting on Aghrim racecourse made up the tale
of his exploits--stared vacantly at his kinsman. Never before had he
heard any one question the right of an Irish gentleman to fight at
pleasure; and for the others whose blood was hotter and younger, for
the three Kerry Cocks, the Conclave had not been more surprised if a
Cardinal had risen and denounced the Papacy, nor an assembly of
half-pay captains been more astonished if one of their number had
denounced the pension system. The Colonel was a Sullivan and an
Irishman, and it was supposed that he had followed the wars. Whence,
then, these strange words, these unheard-of opinions? Morty felt his
cheek flush with the shame which Colonel John should have felt; and
Phelim grieved for the family. The gentleman might be mad; it was
charitable to think he was. But, mad or sane, he was like, they feared,
to be the cause of sad misunderstanding in the country round.

The McMurrough, of a harder and less generous nature than his
companions, felt more contempt than wonder. The man had insulted him
grossly, and had apologised as abjectly; that was his view of the
incident. And he was the first to break the silence. "Sure, it's very
well for the gentleman it's in the family," he said dryly. "Tail up,
tail down, 's all one among friends. But if he'll be so quick with his
tongue in Tralee Market, he'll chance on one here and there that he'll
not blarney so easily! Eh, Morty?"

"I'm fearing so, too," said Phelim pensively. Morty did not answer.
"'Tis a queer world," Phelim added.

"And all sorts in it," The McMurrough cried, his tone more arrogant
than before.

Flavia glanced at him, frowning. "Let us have peace now," she said.

"Peace? Sorrow a bit of war there's like to be in the present company!"
the victor cried. And he began to whistle, amid an awkward silence. The
air he chose was one well known at that day, and when he had whistled a
few bars, one of the buckeens at the lower end of the table began to
sing the words softly.

It was a' for our rightful king
We left fair Ireland's strand!
It was a' for our rightfu