“Or perhaps some men about the gas,” said Lady Devereux. “I hope they won’t want to come in here.”
The pleasant quiet life in Lady Devereux’ house was occasionally broken by visits from plumbers and gas men. No one, however wealthy or easygoing, can altogether escape the evils which have grown up with our civilization.
“It’s not plumbers, my lady,” said Mrs. O’Halloran, “nor it isn’t gas men. It’s Sinn Feiners.”
“Dear me, I suppose they want a subscription. My purse is on my writing table, Mrs. O’Halloran. Will five shillings be enough? I think I ought to give them something. I’m always so sorry for people who have to go round from house to house collecting.”
“I have the three of them in the cloakroom downstairs and the key turned on them,” said Mrs. O’Halloran.
It is quite possible that Lady Devereux might have expressed some surprise at this drastic way of treating men, presumably well-meaning men, who came to ask for money. Before she spoke again she was startled by the sound of several rifle shots fired in the street outside her house. She was not much startled, not at all alarmed. A rifle fired in the open air at some distance does not make a very terrifying sound.
“Dear me,” she said, “I wonder what that is. It sounds very like somebody shooting.”
Mrs. O’Halloran went over to the window and opened it. There was a narrow iron balcony outside. She stepped on to it.
“It’s soldiers, my lady,” she said. “They’re in the square.”
“I suppose it must be on account of the war,” said Lady Devereux.