But all governments and rulers and ruling classes when you look at them closely are incredible....

“I don’t believe the country is on the verge of civil war,” said Mr. Britling.

“Facts!” cried Lady Frensham, and seemed to wipe away delusions with a rapid gesture of her hands.

“You’re interested in Ireland, Mr. Dirks?” asked Lady Homartyn.

“We see it first when we come over,” said Mr. Direck rather neatly, and after that he was free to attend to the general discussion.

Lady Frensham, it was manifest, was one of that energetic body of aristocratic ladies who were taking up an irreconcilable attitude against Home Rule “in any shape or form” at that time.  They were rapidly turning British politics into a system of bitter personal feuds in which all sense of imperial welfare was lost.  A wild ambition to emulate the extremest suffragettes seems to have seized upon them.  They insulted, they denounced, they refused every invitation lest they should meet that “traitor” the Prime Minister, they imitated the party hatreds of a fiercer age, and even now the moderate and politic Philbert found himself treated as an invisible object.  They were supported by the extremer section of the Tory press, and the most extraordinary writers were set up to froth like lunatics against the government as “traitors,” as men who “insulted the King”; the Morning Post and the lighter-witted side of the Unionist press generally poured out a torrent of partisan nonsense it is now almost incredible to recall.  Lady Frensham, bridling over Lady Homartyn’s party, and for a time leaving Mr. Britling, hurried on to tell of the newest developments of the great feud.  She had a wonderful description of Lady Londonderry sitting opposite “that old rascal, the Prime Minister,” at a performance of Mozart’s Zauberfloete.

“If looks could kill!” cried Lady Frensham with tremendous gusto.

“Sir Edward is quite firm that Ulster means to fight.  They have machine-guns—­ammunition.  And I am sure the army is with us....”

“Where did they get those machine-guns and ammunition?” asked Mr. Britling suddenly.

“Ah! that’s a secret,” cried Lady Frensham.

“Um,” said Mr. Britling.

“You see,” said Lady Frensham; “it will be civil war!  And yet you writing people who have influence do nothing to prevent it!”

“What are we to do, Lady Frensham?”

“Tell people how serious it is.”

“You mean, tell the Irish Nationalists to lie down and be walked over.  They won’t be....”

“We’ll see about that,” cried Lady Frensham, “we’ll see about that!”

She was a large and dignified person with a kind of figure-head nobility of carriage, but Mr. Direck was suddenly reminded of a girl cousin of his who had been expelled from college for some particularly elaborate and aimless rioting....

“May I say something to you, Lady Frensham,” said Mr. Britling, “that you have just said to me?  Do you realise that this Carsonite campaign is dragging these islands within a measurable distance of civil war?”