was an O'Brien.

These were old ingrained Rohan prejudices, and she was too old
herself to alter.

But she loved the good fishermen whose picturesque boats made such a
charming group on the sands at sunset, and also their wives and
children; and here she and her nephew were "bien d'accord."

I fear her ladyship would not have appreciated very keenly the
rising splendor of a certain not altogether unimportant modern house
in Barge Yard, Bucklersbury--and here she would have been wrong. The
Time has come when we throw the handkerchief at female Rohans, we
Maurices and our like. I have not done so myself, it is true; but
not from any rooted antipathy to any daughter of a hundred
earls--nor yet from any particular diffidence on my own part.

Anyhow, Lady Caroline loved to hear all Barty had to say of his gay
life among the beauty, rank, and fashion of Blankenberghe. She was
very civil to the handsome Irish Madame de Cleves, _nee_ O'Brien,
and listened politely to the family history of the O'Briens and that
of the de Cleveses too: and learnt, without indecent surprise, or
any emotion of any kind whatever, what she had never heard
before--namely, that in the early part of the twelfth century a
Rohan de Whitby had married an O'Brien of Ballywrotte; and other
prehistoric facts of equal probability and importance.

She didn't believe much in people's twelfth--century reminiscences;
she didn't even believe in those of her own family, who didn't
believe in them either, or trouble about them in the least; and I
dare say they were quite right.

Anyhow, when people solemnly talked about such things it made her
rather sorry. But she bore up for Barty's sake, and the resigned,
half-humorous courtesy with which she assented to these fables was
really more humiliating to a sensitive, haughty soul than any mere
supercilious disdain; not that she ever wished to humiliate, but she
was easily bored, and thought that kind of conversation vulgar,
futile, and rather grotesque.

Indeed, she grew quite fond of Madame de Cleves and the splendid
young dragoon, and the sweet little black-haired daughter with
lovely blue eyes, who sang so charmingly. For they were singularly
charming people in every way, the de Cleveses; and that's a way
Irish people often have--as well as of being proud of their ancient
blood. There is no more innocent weakness. I have it very
strongly--moi qui vous parle--on the maternal side. My mother was a
Blake of De