The place was full of books; you could not walk about without stumbling over them. There were times, too, when the house looked like the wardrobe in a theater. You would meet people coming down-stairs in all manner of costume for their part in plays the count wrote and "Madam"--as we called her--acted with the help of whoever were her guests. These theatrical costumes were sometimes used for plays put on at the Abbey Theater, near by. They served, too, as disguises for suffragettes or labor leaders wanted by the police. The house was always watched whenever there was any sort of agitation in Dublin.
I remember hearing of one labor leader whom the police hoped to arrest before he could address a mass-meeting. He was known to visit Madam, so the plainclothes men made for Surrey House at once. When they arrived they found a fancy-dress ball going on to welcome the count back from Poland. All windows were lighted, music for dancing could be heard, and guests in carriages and motors were arriving. This was no likely haunt for a labor agitator, so they went away. But caution brought them back the next morning, for rumor still had it that their man was hiding there. They waited about the house all that morning and afternoon. Many persons came and went, among them an old man who walked with difficulty and leaned upon the arm of a young woman. The police paid no more attention to him than to the others, but it was the labor leader in one of the disguises from the theatrical wardrobe. He made his speech that night surrounded by such a crowd of loyal defenders that he could not be arrested.
During the Transport Workers' strike in 1913, Madam threw open her house as a place of refuge where strikers were sure to find something to eat or a spot to sleep, if only on the drawing-room floor. In addition, she sold her jewels to obtain money to establish soup-kitchens for their families. Her energy and courage always led her where the conflict was hottest. I do not think she knew what it was to be afraid, once she decided upon a course of action. Although belonging to the most privileged class in Ireland by birth and education, as a little girl she had thrown herself into the Irish cause. She and her sister Eva used to go to the stables, take horses without permission, and ride at a mad pace to the big meetings. There they would hear the great Parnell or the eloquent Michael Davitt tell the story of the wrongs done to Ireland, and urge upon their hearers great courage and self-sacrifice that these wrongs might be righted. If all those at such meetings had heeded the speakers' words as did this little daughter of Lady Gore-Booth; had they surrendered themselves as completely as she did, I verily believe we would to-day be far along the road toward a free Ireland.