‘That must be done at once,’ said the Viceroy, as the other ceased to read the note.
‘It is impossible, my lord; I cannot deny my own handwriting.’
‘Annihough will find some road out of it,’ muttered the other. ‘You were a fool, and mistook your instructions, or the constable was a fool and required a misdirection, or the Fenian was a fool, which he would have been if he gave the pledge you asked for. Must go, all the same.’
‘But I am quite ready to go, my lord,’ rejoined Walpole angrily. ‘There is no need to insist so often on that point.’
‘Who talks—who thinks of you, sir?’ cried the other, with an irritated manner. ‘I speak of myself. It is I must resign—no great sacrifice, perhaps, after all; stupid office, false position, impracticable people. Make them all Papists to-morrow, and ask to be Hindus. They’ve got the land, and not content if they can’t shoot the landlords!’
‘If you think, my lord, that by any personal explanation of mine, I could enable the Minister to make his answer in the House more plausible—’
‘Leave the plausibility to himself, sir,’ and then he added, half aloud, ‘he’ll be unintelligible enough without you. There, go, and get some breakfast—come back afterwards, and I’ll dictate my letter of resignation. Maude has had a letter from Atlee. Shrewd fellow, Atlee—done the thing well.’
As Walpole was near the door, his Excellency said, ‘You can have Guatemala, if they have not given it away. It will get you out of Europe, which is the first thing, and with the yellow fever it may do more.’
‘I am profoundly grateful, my lord,’ said he, bowing low.
‘Maude, of course, would not go, so it ends that.’