In Sackville Street he came face to face with Susan. She was walking with a girl on each side of her, one of whom was Betty O’Brien, the sister of Dennis, who was hanged. Their clothes were wet and bedraggled, their hair wild, like all the women who had waited outside the prison.
“Susan!” said Bertram.
She stared at him without recognition for a moment, and then faltered forward, and clutched him, and wept with her head against him. But not for long. Some other passion shook her, not of grief but rage. She drew back from her brother, and took Betty’s arm.
“Bertram,” she said, in a hoarse voice, “for what has happened to-day I’ll never forgive England. I’m Sinn Fein to the death. Body and soul of me for Ireland and liberty!”
In her tear-stained eyes was a wild light. She looked like a drunken woman of the streets.
A crowd gathered about them, and an English officer came up and said very politely, “Please pass away. Please don’t make trouble.”
“Get away yourself,” said Betty O’Brien. “Out of Ireland with all your tyranny!”
“I must ask you to move on,” said the officer.
Bertram tried to induce Susan to give him her address, but she refused.
“I want to be alone,” she said. “And you’re too English.”