SIR PEARCE. Really, O'Flaherty, the war seems to have upset you a
little.

O'FLAHERTY. It's set me thinking, sir; and I'm not used to it.
It's like the patriotism of the English. They never thought of
being patriotic until the war broke out; and now the patriotism
has took them so sudden and come so strange to them that they run
about like frightened chickens, uttering all manner of nonsense.
But please God they'll forget all about it when the war's over.
They're getting tired of it already.

SIR PEARCE. No, no: it has uplifted us all in a wonderful way.
The world will never be the same again, O'Flaherty. Not after a
war like this.

O'FLAHERTY. So they all say, sir. I see no great differ myself.
It's all the fright and the excitement; and when that quiets down
they'll go back to their natural divilment and be the same as
ever. It's like the vermin: it'll wash off after a while.

SIR PEARCE [rising and planting himself firmly behind the garden
seat]. Well, the long and the short of it is, O'Flaherty, I must
decline to be a party to any attempt to deceive your mother. I
thoroughly disapprove of this feeling against the English,
especially at a moment like the present. Even if your mother's
political sympathies are really what you represent them to be, I
should think that her gratitude to Gladstone ought to cure her of
such disloyal prejudices.