‘Yes, Irish—very Irish.’
‘Ah! I see. Irish in an English sense? Just as there are Greeks here who believe in Kulbash Pasha, and would say, Stay at home and till your currant-fields and mind your coasting trade. Don’t try to be civilised, for civilisation goes badly with brigandage, and scarcely suits trickery. And you are aware, Mr. Atlee, that trickery and brigandage are more to Greece than olives or dried figs?’
There was that of mockery in the way he said this, and the little smile that played about his mouth when he finished, that left Atlee in considerable doubt how to read him.
‘I study your newspapers, Mr. Atlee,’ resumed he. ‘I never omit to read your Times, and I see how my old acquaintance, Lord Danesbury, has been making Turkey out of Ireland! It is so hard to persuade an old ambassador that you cannot do everything by corruption!’
‘I scarcely think you do him justice.’
‘Poor Danesbury,’ ejaculated he sorrowfully.
‘You opine that his policy is a mistake?’
‘Poor Danesbury!’ said he again.
‘He is one of our ablest men, notwithstanding. At this moment we have not his superior in anything.’
‘I was going to say, Poor Danesbury, but I now say, Poor England.’