Confessions of a Well-Meaning Woman
a truly loyal subject, and I should like to see if I could not shew him a little kindness.”
“He’s a noxious creature,” said Arthur with his usual intolerance, “but all these stories of spying and of blackmailing ministers are sheer flumdiddle. It isn’t worth his while. Whoever wins, Erskine will make money. He’s technically loyal; but he’s a man without patriotism, because the whole world is his country. For the Lord’s sake, don’t throw your mantle over him; as long as there are national distinctions, I object to the way these international Jew financiers settle in England for their own convenience.”
“I am not,” I said, “concerned with that. You may be right. Perhaps we should all of us have done better to hold aloof and offer him no welcome at the outset. But, do you know, I feel a certain responsibility? Having been received here, having poured money like water into the pockets of his so-called friends, will he not form a low view of our sincerity and goodwill if every one abandons him at a time like this? I am disinterested: we have accepted nothing from him, we can look to him for nothing; but there is a reproach which I feel it my duty to remove.”
I could not make Arthur see that people like Connie Maitland, liée with the poor man one
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