"West Briton!"
When the lancers were over Gabriel went away to a remote corner
of the room where Freddy Malins' mother was sitting. She was a
stout feeble old woman with white hair. Her voice had a catch in it
like her son's and she stuttered slightly. She had been told that
Freddy had come and that he was nearly all right. Gabriel asked
her whether she had had a good crossing. She lived with her
married daughter in Glasgow and came to Dublin on a visit once a
year. She answered placidly that she had had a beautiful crossing
and that the captain had been most attentive to her. She spoke also
of the beautiful house her daughter kept in Glasgow, and of all the
friends they had there. While her tongue rambled on Gabriel tried
to banish from his mind all memory of the unpleasant incident
with Miss Ivors. Of course the girl or woman, or whatever she was,
was an enthusiast but there was a time for all things. Perhaps he
ought not to have answered her like that. But she had no right to
call him a West Briton before people, even in joke. She had tried
to make him ridiculous before people, heckling him and staring at
him with her rabbit's eyes.
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