Clithering is a man who accumulates private secretaries rapidly. It would not have surprised me to hear that he had a dozen.
“I brought him,” Clithering went on, “to take notes of our conversation. I thought that you would prefer him to a stranger.”
I should very much have preferred the young man from Toynbee Hall who escorted Marion to the cathedral. I should, in fact, have preferred any other private secretary. But I had not the heart to say so. The experience of the last few days had softened me, and Godfrey looked immensely pleased with himself. He had on a new frock coat, beautifully cut, and a pair of trousers of an exquisite shade of grey. He also had a pale mauve tie with a pearl pin in it.
Clithering began rather pompously. I dare say he really thought that he was in a position to dictate terms.
“I hope,” he said, “I sincerely hope that you fully realize the extraordinary forbearance with which the Government has treated this—this—”
“Don’t say rebellion,” I said; “we’re thoroughly loyal men and always have been.”
Clithering hesitated. He wanted to say rebellion, but he remembered that he was engaged in a game of diplomacy.
“This émeute,” he said at last.
French is, after all, a greater language than English. I could not object to émeute. I should have objected to any English description of our rising.
“We might,” said Clithering, “have shot the people down. We might have bombarded the town. I am sure that you realize that.”