BALSQUITH. Great Heavens, no. My wife isnt allowed even to put on
her gloves with French chalk. Everything labelled Made in
Camberwell. She advised me to come to you. And what I have to say
must be said here to you personally, in the most intimate
confidence, with the most urgent persuasion. Mitchener: Sandstone
has resigned.

MITCHENER (amazed). Old Red resigned!

BALSQUITH. Resigned.

MITCHENER. But how? Why? Oh, impossible! the proclamation of
martial law last Tuesday made Sandstone virtually Dictator in the
metropolis, and to resign now is flat desertion.

BALSQUITH. Yes, yes, my dear Mitchener; I know all that as well
as you do: I argued with him until I was black in the face and he
so red about the neck that if I had gone on he would have burst.
He is furious because we have abandoned his plan.

MITCHENER. But you accepted it unconditionally.

BALSQUITH. Yes, before we knew what it was. It was unworkable,
you know.

MITCHENER. I dont know. Why is it unworkable?

BALSQUITH. I mean the part about drawing a cordon round
Westminster at a distance of two miles; and turning all women out