ligion," said Irene sadly. "It is just this
religious spirit which has decayed throughout our world. Christianity
turns to ritualism. And science--we were told you know, that science
would be religion enough."

"There's the pity--the failure of science as a civilising force. I
know," added Piers quickly, "that there are men whose spirit, whose
work, doesn't share in that failure; they are the men--the very
few--who are above self-interest. But science on the whole, has come to
mean money-making and weapon-making. It leads the international
struggle; it is judged by its value to the capitalist and the soldier."

"Isn't this perhaps a stage of evolution that the world must live
through--to its extreme results?"

"Very likely. The signs are bad enough."

"You haven't yourself that enthusiastic hope?"

"I try to hope," said Piers, in a low, unsteady voice, his eyes falling
timidly before her glance. "But what you said is so true--one can't
create the spirit of religion. If one hasn't it----" He broke off, and
added with a smile, "I think I have a certain amount of enthusiasm. But
when one has seen a good deal of the world, it's so very easy to feel
discouraged. Think how much sheer barbarism there is around us, from
the brutal savage of the gutter to the cunning savage of the Stock
Exchange!"

Irene had a gleam in her eyes; she nodded appreciation.

"If," he went on vigorously, "if one could make the multitude really
understand--understand to the point of action--how enormously its
interest is peace!"

"More hope that way, I'm afraid," said Irene, "than through idealisms."

"Yes, yes. If it comes at all, it'll be by the way of self-interest.
And really it looks as if the military tyrants might overreach
themselves here and there. Italy, for instance. Think of Italy, crushed
and cursed by a blood-tax that the people themselves see to be futile.
One enters into the spirit of the men who freed Italy from
foreigners--it was glorious; but how much more glorious to excite a
rebellion there against her own rulers! Shouldn't you enjoy doing that?"

At times, there is no subtler compliment to a woman than to address her
as if she were a man. It must be done involuntarily, as was the case
with this utterance of Otway's. Irene rewarded him with a look such as
he had never had from her, the look of rejoicing comradeship.

"Indeed I should! Italy is becoming a misery to those who love her. Is
no plot going on? Couldn't one