ever want or misery or starvation is known to exist,
however distant or difficult of access, we instantly organise relief on
the most generous scale, and distribute it, if need be, to the uttermost
ends of the earth."

The Duchess paused, with a sense of ultimate triumph. She had made the
same observation at a drawing-room meeting, and it had been extremely
well received.

"I wonder," said Reginald, "if you have ever walked down the Embankment
on a winter night?"

"Gracious, no, child! Why do you ask?"

"I didn't; I only wondered. And even your philanthropy, practised in a
world where everything is based on competition, must have a debit as well
as a credit account. The young ravens cry for food."

"And are fed."

"Exactly. Which presupposes that something else is fed upon."

"Oh, you're simply exasperating. You've been reading Nietzsche till you
haven't got any sense of moral proportion left. May I ask if you are
governed by _any_ laws of conduct whatever?"

"There are certain fixed rules that one observes for one's own comfort.
For instance, never be flippantly rude to any inoffensive grey-bearded
stranger that you may meet in pine forests or hotel smoking-rooms on the
Continent. It always turns out to be the King of Sweden."

"The restraint must be dreadfully irksome to you. When I was younger,
boys of your age used to be nice and innocent."

"Now we are only nice. One must specialise in these days. Which reminds
me of the man I read of in some sacred book who was given a choice of
what he most desired. And because he didn't ask for titles and honours
and dignities, but only for immense wealth, these other things came to
him also."

"I am sure you didn't read about him in any sacred book."

"Yes; I fancy you will find him in Debrett."

REGINALD'S PEACE POEM

"I'm writing a poem on Peace," said Reginald, emerging from a sweeping
operation through a tin of mixed biscuits, in whose depths a macaroon or
two might yet be lurking.

"Something of the kind seems to have been attempted already," said the
Other.

"Oh, I know; but I may never have the chance again. Besides, I've got a
new fountain pen. I don't pretend to have gone on any very original
lines; in writing about Peace the thing is to say what everybody else is
saying, only to say it better. It begins with the usual ornithological
emotion--

'When the widgeon westward winging
Heard the folk Vereeniginging,
Hear