“But,” said Clithering, “the collection of the revenue! Between ourselves now, Lord Kilmore, do you think there would be any risk of your imposing a tariff on—”
“Certain to,” I said. “It will be one of the first things we do.”
“We can’t agree to that,” said Clithering. “Free Trade is a principle, a sacred principle with us. You can’t expect—We are a Free Trade Government. Our consciences—”
“Very well,” I said. “Go on with the war. Bombard Belfast. Kill another woman. Smash the Albert Memorial with a shell.”
“Our consciences—” said Clithering.
“Your consciences,” I said, “will have to let you do one thing or the other.”
“Now take my own case,” said Clithering. “I am interested, deeply interested, in hosiery. We do a big business in stockings.”
Godfrey winced. I do not wonder. The future Lady Kilmore must, of course, wear stockings, but it is not pleasant for Godfrey to think of her supply coming straight from the paternal factory.
“The Irish trade,” said Clithering, “is not among the most remunerative, but—”