“He said we’d leave Ireland with the greatest pleasure,” said Clithering.
“Is that all?”
Something in the way Clithering spoke made me think the Prime Minister must have said more than that.
“He added,” said Clithering, “that—”
Then he paused nervously.
“Out with it,” I said. “It’s far better to have no secrets. Godfrey, take down the Prime Minister’s words.”
“He added,” said Clithering, “that there is only one thing which would please him better than to see the back of the last Irishman leaving Westminster, and that is—”
“Go on,” I said.
“To hear that at the end of three weeks you’d all torn each other to pieces, and that there was nothing but a lot of trouser buttons left to show that Ireland had ever been an inhabited country. Of course he didn’t mean it. If there was the least chance of any internecine strife our conscience would not allow us—after all we have a duty, as Englishmen—but there’s no risk of bloodshed, is there, Lord Kilmore?”
“Not the slightest. I may take it then that your Government agrees to our terms. You cart away your army and all your officials, except the Lord Lieutenant. We want him. He’s to give parties for the Dublin doctors and the smaller landed gentry.”