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It is quite wrong, for instance, to impute it as a crime to a whole class of men that their heads are bald. Nobody can help being bald if his hair will not grow any more than he can help being fat if his stomach will swell. Fatness was another of the accusations which McNeice hurled against the bishops.
He went no further than to point out the fact that there was a distinction between the two things; but everybody understood that a demonstration was, in his opinion, quite harmless, whereas a review might end in getting somebody into trouble. The Nationalist leaders "those fellows" as McNeice called them issued a kind of manifesto.
"I would," said Bob, "if I thought she wouldn't be angry with me." "She's nervous," I said, "and excited; but she didn't seem angry." Just outside the town I met Crossan and, very much to my surprise, McNeice walking with him. Crossan handed me a letter. I put it into my pocket and greeted McNeice. "I did not know you were here," I said. "When did you come?" "Last night," said McNeice.
After all, a high ecclesiastic cannot sit still and listen to profane condemnation of one of the Psalms of David, even if it has undergone versification at the hands of Dr. Watts. The conduct of McNeice and Malcolmson was offensive and provocative. The noise made by the crowd was maddening. There is every excuse for Babberly's sudden loss of temper. But the Dean's anger was more than excusable.
It looked something like The Spectator, but had none of the pleasant advertisements of schools and books, and much fewer pages of correspondence than the English weekly has. "Surely," I said, "you can't expect it to pay at that price." "We don't," said McNeice. "We've plenty of money behind us. Conroy you know Conroy, don't you?"
"Oh," I said, "then Lady Moyne got a subscription out of him after all. I knew she intended to." "Lady Moyne isn't in this at all," said McNeice. "We're out for business with The Loyalist. Lady Moyne's well, I don't quite see Lady Moyne running The Loyalist." "She's a tremendously keen Unionist," I said.
Malcolmson shook hands with the two men vigorously. I never shake hands with Malcolmson if I can possibly help it, because he always hurts me. I expect he hurt both McNeice and O'Donovan. They did not cry out, but they looked a good deal surprised. "I happened to be in Dublin," said Malcolmson, "and I called round here to congratulate the editor of this paper.
McNeice, I imagine, has a quite evangelical dislike of such titles. I dare say that it was the fact of my being a lord which made him so rude to me. On the afternoon of my garden-party I happened to be standing close beside Lady Moyne when she was saying good-bye to the Dean. Her final remark was addressed quite as much to him as to me.
Godfrey left me, and I went on fidgetting with my papers until luncheon-time. Marion and I were just finishing luncheon when Godfrey came in again. "Well," I said, "have you captured your millionaire?" "He wasn't on board," said Godfrey. "There were two men there, Power, who's Conroy's secretary, and a horrid bounder called McNeice. They were drinking bottled stout in the cabin with Crossan."
Godfrey regarded Marion as, in a sense, his property, although there was nothing in the way of an engagement between them. McNeice, whom I had hoped to meet, was not on the yacht. The steward explained to us that he was spending the day with Crossan. I could see that the thought of any one spending the day with Crossan outraged Godfrey's sense of decency.
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