He had learned to think of it as a force, greedy, materialistic, tyrannous, grossly hypocritical.

What more was required to satisfy the conception of evil that he sought for?
He remembered all that he had ever heard from Augusta Goold and her friends about the shameless trickery of English statesmen, about the insatiable greed of the merchants, about the degraded sensuality of the workers.

He recalled the blatant boastfulness with which English demagogues claimed to be the sole possessors of enlightened consciences, and the tales of native races exploited, gin-poisoned, and annihilated by pioneers of civilization advancing with Bibles in their hands.
But with all his capacity for enthusiasm there was a strain of weakness in Hyacinth.

More than once after the glories of an Independent Ireland had been preached to him he had found himself growing suddenly cold and dejected, smitten by an east wind of common-sense.

At the time when he first recognised the loftiness of his father's religion he had revolted against being called upon to adopt so fantastic a creed.