towards the Dower House. He criticised England himself unmercifully, but
he hated to think that in any respect she fell short of perfection; even
her defects he liked to imagine were just a subtler kind of power and
wisdom. And Lady Frensham had stuck her voice and her gestures through
all these amiable illusions. He was like a lover who calls his lady a
foolish rogue, and is startled to find that facts and strangers do
literally agree with him.

But it was so difficult to resolve Lady Frensham and the Irish squabble
generally into anything better than idiotic mischief, that for a time he
was unusually silent--wrestling with the problem, and Mr. Direck got the
conversational initiative.

"To an American mind it's a little--startling," said Mr. Direck, "to
hear ladies expressing such vigorous political opinions."

"I don't mind that," said Mr. Britling. "Women over here go into
politics and into public-houses--I don't see why they shouldn't. If such
things are good enough for men they are good enough for women; we
haven't your sort of chivalry. But it's the peculiar malignant silliness
of this sort of Toryism that's so discreditable. It's discreditable.
There's no good in denying it. Those people you have heard and seen are
a not unfair sample of our governing class--of a certain section of our
governing class--as it is to-day. Not at all unfair. And you see how
amazingly they haven't got hold of anything. There was a time when they
could be politic.... Hidden away they have politic instincts even
now.... But it makes me sick to think of this Irish business. Because,
you know, it's true--we _are_ drifting towards civil war there."

"You are of that opinion?" said Mr. Direck.