“Is that what they say?” said Gorman.
He picked up one of the papers which I had laid on the table and satisfied himself that the thing was really in print.
“Well,” he said, “they had to say something. I daresay people will believe them. The English are an extraordinarily credulous race, fools in fact. That’s why I’m a Home Ruler.”
“You must remember,” I said, “that I’m a Unionist.”
“Are you? Speaking confidentially, now, are you really?”
“My father was,” I said, “and I don’t like to see these things in print about the party without making some kind of reply. What I’m thinking of doing is writing a sort of circular letter to all the papers on our side and saying that to my certain knowledge you and Mrs. Ascher have been using undue and unfair influence over each other for the last six months. If it’s wrong for a woman to talk politics to a soldier it must be much more wrong for one to talk art to a politician.”
“Mrs. Ascher,” said Gorman, “is an extraordinary woman. The more I see of her, the less inclined I am to be surprised at anything she says or does. She’s tremendously keen just now on Home Rule and Ireland generally.”
“That is amazing,” I said.
“It isn’t in itself,” said Gorman, “but the way she gets at it is. I mean that theory of hers about——”
“Yes. I know. She will insist on thinking that you and everybody else on your side are artists.”