eep writing to me. You know the sort of thing I mean."

I did. The members of the English aristocracy still preserve a curious
sentiment which they call "loyalty." It is quite a different thing
from the "loyalty" of Crossan, for instance, or McNeice. I fully
understood that there were men in clubs in London who would look
coldly at poor Moyne (men of such importance that their wives'
treatment of Lady Moyne would matter even to her) if he were
discovered to be heading an actual rising of Ulster Protestants. I
promised to do what I could to get Moyne out of his difficulty.

I found that Babberly and Lady Moyne had worked out a very feasible
plan without any help from me.

"That fellow Malcolmson has rushed things," said Babberly, "and
there's an abominable rag called _The Loyalist_--"

"By the way," I said, "I hear that the Nationalists at their last
meeting in Dublin joined in singing 'God Save the King.'"

I wanted to hear what Babberly thought of this. I was disappointed.
The fact did not seem to interest him.

"I don't know who edits the thing," he went on, still referring to
_The Loyalist_.

"Conroy is behind it," I said. "I happen to know that."

"But surely," said Lady Moyne, "Mr. Conroy cannot want to encourage
violence. He has just as much to lose as any of us--more than most of
us--by any kind of outbreak of the democracy."

"Lady Moyne has suggested to Malcolmson," said Babberly, "that he
should agree to call this 12th of July business a March Past."

"Is that any improvement on Review?" I asked.

"Of course," said Lady Moyne, "the Government doesn't want to be
driven to take steps against us. There would be horrible rioting
afterwards if they struck Moyne's name off the Privy Council or did
anything like that. It would be just as unpleasant for them as it
would be for us, more so in fact."

"Your idea," I said, "is to give the Government a loophole of escape."

"Malcolmson has agreed all right," said Babberly, "and if only that
wretched little paper--did you say Conroy was in it?"

"I'll write to Mr. Conroy at once," said Lady Moyne. "I'm sure his
connection with a paper of that kind is simply a mistake."

She turned to the table and began to write her letter. The secretary
in a distant corner of the room was still typing out a long
pronouncement which Babberly intended to forward to _The Times_. A
minute or two later Lady Moyne turned to me with one of her brightest
smiles.

"We want you