Part 6 (2/2)
Lytham gave her a match for the cigarette that she had put into a black holder with a narrow band of diamonds. ”Did you give them any views of your own?” he asked.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.]
”Rather,” she said, the light on her hair like moonlight on black water.
”I held forth at length with my back to the fireplace. As a matter of fact, quite on the spur of the moment, I handed them a very brilliant idea.”
”Yes?” It was a little incredulous.
”Yes, odd as it very obviously seems to you, Lochinvar. I said that I thought that this was the psychological moment for a nice piece of theatricality. I said that some one, probably Kipling, should draft a letter for the King, in which he should set forth the fact that he was going to withdraw every one of his soldiers and all his officials from Ireland at once and leave the Irish to run themselves, giving them the same kind of dominion government that they have in Australia and Canada, wis.h.i.+ng them G.o.dspeed and a happy Easter,-a manly, colloquial letter, very simple and direct, and ending with a touch of real emotion, the sort of thing that the King would write on his own, better than any one.”
There was a moment's pause, during which Lytham darted a quick look at Fallaray. A gleam came into the eyes of both men.
”What did they say to that?” he asked.
”My dear man, what do you suppose they said? Having no imagination and precious little knowledge of the facts of the case, they dragged in Ulster and talked about civil war, which I think is absurd, because already, as Arthur knows perfectly well, Ulster is feeling the pinch of the boycott and has deserted Carson to a man. They're longing for a settlement and only anxious to go on making bawbees in the good old Scotch Presbyterian manner.-They couldn't see, and I don't suppose they will ever be made to see, this lot, that a letter from the King would immediately have the effect of withdrawing all the sympathy from the Irish and reduce them from martyrs to the level of ordinary human beings. They couldn't see that every Irish grievance would be taken away in one fell swoop, that the priests would be left without a leg to stand on and that above all America would be the first to say 'Now show us.'
It would be a frightful blow to Collins and de Valera and also to the Germans and the Sinn Feiners in the United States, and make all the world admire the British sense of sportsmans.h.i.+p,-which we have almost lost by everything that has been done during and since the War by our people in Ireland.-What do _you_ think of it,-both of you?”
She threw her head back and waited for a scoffing laugh from Lytham and a look from her husband that would move her to ribaldry. Her long white neck rose out of her queer gown like a pillar, the pieces of jade in her hair s.h.i.+mmered oddly and there was the gleam of undergraduate ragging in her eyes.
Fallaray looked at his wife for the first time. ”It was an inspiration,”
he said. ”I confess that I have never thought of this solution.”
Feo was amazed but bowed ironically. ”Very generous, Arthur, very generous. I couldn't have been married to you all this time without having acquired a certain amount of intelligence, though, could I?” Even at such a moment she could not remain serious, although she was perfectly ready to confess to a considerable flutter of vanity at Fallaray's favorable comment.
”My G.o.d,” said George Lytham, ”it takes a woman to think of a thing like this.”
”You'll make me swollen-headed in a moment, you two.”
Lytham took no further notice of her. He strode over to Fallaray. ”Could this be done? I quite agree with your wife in her interpretation of the effect of such a letter and of course it could be made the sort of human doc.u.ment which would electrify the world. I agree, too, that once our soldiers were withdrawn with all the bra.s.s hats from the castle, the huge majority of reasonable Irishmen would insist on taking hold of things against the very small minority of Republicans who have merely used Ireland as a means of feathering their own nests, and be obliged to prove that they are fit to run their own country without b.l.o.o.d.y squabbles, cat-calling, filthy recriminations and all the other things for which they have earned a historical reputation. But-can it be done?”
Fallaray paced up and down the room with his hands clasped behind his back and his great shoulders rounded. Lytham and Lady Feo watched him.
It was a peculiar moment. They both saw in it the test of Fallaray's imagination and, in a way, humor. They could see that he was looking at this thing from every possible angle, dissecting it as a chemist would dissect bad water. At last he gave a groan and stopped and faced them.
”Not with these men,” he said. ”Not with this political system, not in these times. Do you imagine for a moment that the present Cabinet holds a single man big enough, humble enough, patriotic enough to permit even the King to step on the stage and absorb the limelight? No. Not one.
There is some microbe in the House of Commons, some atrocious cootie which gets under the skin of its members and poisons them so that they become the victims of a form of egomania of which they never can be cured. Then, too, my dear Lytham, we must get it into our heads that the Irish trouble is like a cancer in the body of the Const.i.tution. We may hit upon a medicine that seems likely to give temporary relief-the withdrawal of the troops, the appointment of a new Lord Lieutenant, even the establishment of a Dominion Government-but we have got to remember that the hatred of the Irish for the English is fundamental and permanent. What may seem to us to-day to offer a solution to this age-old problem becomes futile and unworkable to-morrow. In our efforts to deal with the question we must not allow ourselves to be influenced by the quick transitory events that chase each other across the front pages of the paper. We must, if we can, go to the root of the malady,-the deep human emotion that burns in the hearts and souls of the Irish and endeavor to understand. Otherwise we are as children making foolish marks on s.h.i.+fting sand. What we write to-day is obliterated to-morrow.”
He turned about, walked slowly over to the chair at his desk and dropped into it heavily, rising again immediately because Feo was standing.
Seeing which, and having an engagement to join Mrs. Malwood and several others at a private dance club, she made for the door. ”Well,” she said, ”there it is. I did my best for you.”
”An excellent best,” said Fallaray. ”Thank you again. Are you leaving us?”
She waved her hand, that long able hand which might have achieved good things but for that fatal kink in her,-and went.
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