“I must see the Prime Minister early to-morrow. He must be persuaded—he must be forced if necessary—to telegraph orders to Belfast. Don’t you realize? I don’t blame you, I don’t blame either of you for the failure of your meeting this afternoon. I’m sure you did your best. But—but what will happen here to-morrow? We can’t leave the people to be shot down like dogs. After all, they’re our people.”
“But what can you do?” said Moyne. “The Prime Minister won’t see you.”
“If necessary I shall force him,” said Lady Moyne. “He shall see me.”
Lady Moyne is, as I have always said, a remarkable woman. Many members of her sex have been trying for years to force their way into the presence of the Prime Minister. They have hitherto failed.
“I am afraid,” I said, “that Marion won’t be much use to you if you’re going to come into collision with the police in any way.”
Lady Moyne smiled.
“I hope I shan’t be reduced to those methods,” she said; “but if I am I shall leave Marion at home.”
I had not the slightest doubt that Lady Moyne would succeed in seeing the Prime Minister. He has probably sense enough to know that though he may resist other women successfully, he cannot possibly make head against her.
“If there is no rioting here to-night,” said Lady Moyne, “I shall be in time. That young man, Mr. Power, seemed to think that everything would be quiet until to-morrow. I hope he’s right.”
“He’s sure to be,” I said. “Conroy is running the revolution and settles exactly what is to happen.”