e extreme in their
demands. Ireland was, as always, very disturbed. The Coalition
Government--not a good government, but, after all, better than any which
would be likely to succeed it--was shaking from one bye-election blow
after another. The French were being disagreeable about Syria, the
Italians about Fiume, and every one about the Russian invasion, or
evacuation, or whatever it was, which even Percy's press joined in
condemning. And coal was exorbitant, and food prices going up, and the
reviews of _Audrey against the World_ most ignorant and unfair. I believe
that that spiteful article of Mr. Gideon's about me did a good deal of
harm among ignorant and careless reviewers, who took their opinions from
others, without troubling to read my books for themselves. So many
reviewers are like that--stupid and prejudiced people, who cannot think
for themselves, and often merely try to be funny about a book instead of
giving it fair criticism. Of course, that _Fact_ article was merely
comic; I confess I laughed at it, though I believe it was meant to be
taken very solemnly. But I was always like that. I know it is shocking of
me, but I have to laugh when people are pompous and absurd; my sense of
the ridiculous is too strong for me.

After Oliver's death, I did not recognise Mr. Gideon when I met him, not
in the least on personal grounds, but because I definitely wished to
discourage his intimacy with my family. But we had one rather strange
interview.

2

I was going to see Jane one afternoon, soon after the tragedy, and as I
was emerging from the tube station I met Mr. Gideon. We were face to
face, so I had to bow, which I did very coldly, and I was surprised when
he stopped and said, in that morose way of his, 'You're going to see
Jane, aren't you, Lady Pinkerton?'

I inclined my head once more. The man stood at my side, staring at the
ground and fidgeting, and biting his finger-nail in that disagreeable way
he has. Then he said, 'Lady Pinkerton, Jane's unhappy.'

The impertinence of the man! Who was he to tell me that of my own
daughter, a widow of a few weeks?

'Naturally,' I replied very coolly. 'It would be strange indeed if she
were not.'

'Oh, well--' he made a queer, jerking movement.

'You'll say it's not my business. But please don't ... er ... let
people worry her--get on her nerves. It does rather, you know. And--and
she's not fit.'

'I'm afraid,' I said, putting up my lorgnette, 'I do not altoget