Part 23 (1/2)

She pranced out of the room, stepping high, like an actress taking a part in one of Shakespeare's plays or a well-bred carriage horse.

”Gorman,” I said, ”you're not going to take her wedding ring, are you?

I don't think you ought to. Ascher's really fond of her and I'm sure he wouldn't like it.”

”I wish to goodness,” said Gorman, ”that she wouldn't behave in this wild way. If she wants to subscribe to the party funds why doesn't she write a cheque instead of shying jewellery at me? I should certainly be arrested on suspicion if I went to try and p.a.w.n those things. n.o.body would believe that she gave them to me.”

He picked up the rings as he spoke and laid them in a row on the table.

”If we don't get her stopped,” he said, ”she'll have everybody laughing at us.”

”Laughing at you, Gorman, not at me. I've nothing to do with the poetic soul of Ireland. It's your property.”

”The English have no real sense of humour,” said Gorman.

”They've got quite enough to see this joke,” I said. ”An owl would giggle if it saw Mrs. Ascher going barefoot about Ireland and you following her round carrying a long spear tipped with light in your hand.”

”We must stop her,” said Gorman. ”Oh, d.a.m.n! Here she is again.”

Mrs. Ascher came in carrying a large morocco leather covered box, her jewel case, I suppose. She was a little calmer than when she left us but still very determined.

”Take this,” she said. ”Take all there is in it. I give it gladly--to Ireland.”

Gorman looked at the jewel case and then pulled himself together with an effort.

”Mrs. Ascher,” he said, ”your gift is princely, but----”

”I give it freely,” said Mrs. Ascher.

”And I shall receive it,” said Gorman, ”receive it as the gift of a queen, given with queenly generosity. I shall receive it when the hour comes, but the time is not yet.”

Gorman rising to an occasion is a sight which fills me with admiration.

That promise of a time to come was masterly. I should never have thought of it; but of course it came more easily to Gorman than it would to me. He is a politician and accustomed to draw cheques on rather distant futures.

”Our people,” said Gorman, ”are as yet unprepared, not ready to face the crisis of their destiny. Keep these.” Gorman laid his hand on the jewel box as if giving it a sort of benediction, consecrating its contents to the service of Ireland. ”Keep these as a sacred trust until the hour is upon us.”

I very nearly applauded. Mrs. Ascher seemed a little disappointed.

”Why not now?” she said. ”Why should we delay any longer?”

”We must trust our leaders,” said Gorman. ”They will tell us when the time for action comes.”

That would have been good enough for any ordinary const.i.tuency. It did not satisfy Mrs. Ascher. I saw her looking a little doubtfully at Gorman. She is a curious woman. She uses the very finest kind of language herself; but she always gets suspicious when any one else talks about sacred trusts and things of that kind. The fact is, I suppose, that she means what she says, lives, as well as talks, finely. Gorman and I do not--quite.

I felt that Gorman needed and deserved a little help. He had done well enough so far, but he scarcely understood how near to the edge of Mrs.

Ascher's credulity he had gone.

”What Mr. Gorman means,” I said, ”is that you must have men, organised, you know, and drilled, before you can give them guns. Just at present there are very few volunteers in Mr. Gorman's part of Ireland. He's going to enroll a lot more. When he has them he'll ask you for a subscription for the gun fund.”