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It is a quaint result of my sense of justice that, in the French Secret Service, I am known as “a niece of Mr. Lloyd George.” When the brilliant one-time chef de Cabinet of Monsieur Briand published his violent attacks on Lord Robert Cecil and our late Premier, he also printed my replies. “He did not,” he kindly explained, “consider there was a word of truth in what I said, but he was unwilling to thwart an Englishwoman!”

Shortly after the appearance of my “defence,” the correspondent of a big newspaper in Chicago spoke of “my uncle,” Mr. Lloyd George. I protested, “not because I should not be proud of the relationship, but because I happen to have no such claim.”

“Dear lady,” he replied, “don’t think I shall ever want to spoil your little game.”

Such a remark did not merit a serious answer, and I allowed the matter to slide. I knew very well Mr. Lloyd George would never lift a finger to help “his niece,” for have I not four times appealed to him in vain on matters of the greatest national importance? Yet “his niece” will continue to defend him against “unjust” attacks, and criticise him also.