“Oh, I don't deny that this is clever enough in its way; but you had better read the thing yourself.” The pamphlet was a skit on the wild enthusiasm over the new Pope with which Italy was still ringing. Like all the Gadfly's writing, it was bitter and vindictive; but, notwithstanding her irritation at the style, Gemma could not help recognizing in her heart the justice of the criticism. “I quite agree with you that it is detestably malicious,” she said, laying down the manuscript. “But the worst thing about it is that it's all true.” “Gemma!” “Yes, but it is. The man's a cold-blooded eel, if you like; but he's got the truth on his side. There is no use in our trying to persuade ourselves that this doesn't hit the mark--it does!” “Then do you suggest that we should print it?” “Ah! that's quite another matter. I certainly don't think we ought to print it as it stands; it would hurt and alienate everybody and do no good. But if he would rewrite it and cut out the personal attacks, I think it might be made into a really valuable piece of work. As political criticism it is very fine. I had no idea he could write so well. He says things which need saying and which none of us have had the courage to say. This passage, where he compares Italy to a tipsy man weeping with tenderness on the neck of the thief who is picking his pocket, is splendidly written.” “Gemma! The very worst bit in the whole thing! I hate that ill-natured yelping at everything and everybody!” “So do I; but that's not the point. Rivarez has a very disagreeable style, and as a human being he is not attractive; but when he says that we have made ourselves drunk with processions and embracing and shouting about love and reconciliation, and that the Jesuits and Sanfedists are the people who will profit by it all, he's right a thousand times. I wish I could have been at the committee yesterday. What decision did you finally arrive at?” “What I have come here about: to ask you to go and talk it over with him and persuade him to soften the thing.” “Me? But I hardly know the man; and besides that, he detests me. Why should I go, of all people?” “Simply because there's no one else to do it to-day. Besides, you are more reasonable than the rest of us, and won't get into useless arguments and quarrel with him, as we should.” “I shan't do that, certainly. Well, I will go if you like, though I have not much hope of success.” “I am sure you will be able to manage him if you try. Yes, and tell him that the committee all admired the thing from a literary point of view. That will put him into a good humour, and it's perfectly true, too.” *****