“And leave us to manage Ireland ourselves. Got that, Godfrey?”
“But,” said Clithering; “but—I thought you didn’t want Home Rule.”
“We don’t. We won’t have it at any price.”
“But that is Home Rule of the most extreme kind.”
“There’s no use splitting hairs,” I said, “or discussing finicking points of political nomenclature. The point for you to grasp is that those are our terms.”
“Will you excuse me?” said Clithering. “This is all rather surprising. May I call up the Prime Minister on the telephone?”
“Certainly,” I said. “I’m in no hurry. But be sure you put it to him distinctly. I don’t want to have any misunderstanding.”
There was no telephone in the library of Moyne House. Clithering had to ring for a servant who led him off to another room. Godfrey seized the opportunity of his absence to confide in me.
“Poor old Clithering is a bit of a bounder,” he said. “Makes stockings, you know, Excellency. And Lady Clithering is a fat vulgarian. It’s all she can do to pick up her aitches. I shouldn’t think of stopping in their house if—”