line and place the German armies in Flanders in peril."

The Cabinet Minister's views were popular. There was a little murmur of
approval, something which sounded almost like a purr of content. It
was just one more expression of that strangely discreditable yet almost
universal failing,--the over-reliance upon others. The quiet remark of
the man who suddenly saw fit to join in the discussion struck a chilling
and a disturbing note.

"There is one thing which could end the war at any moment," Mr. Stenson
said, leaning a little forward, "and that is the will of the people."

There was perplexity as well as discomfiture in the minds of his
hearers.

"The people?" Lord Shervinton repeated. "But surely the people speak
through the mouths of their rulers?"

"They have been content to, up to the present," the Prime Minister
agreed, "but Europe may still see strange and dramatic events before
many years are out."

"Do go on, please," the Countess begged.

Mr. Stenson shook his head.

"Even as a private individual I have said more than I intended," he
replied. "I have only one thing to say about the war in public, and that
is that we are winning, that we must win, that our national existence
depends upon winning, and that we shall go on until we do win. The
obstacles between us and victory, which may remain in our minds, are not
to be spoken of."

There was a brief and somewhat uncomfortable pause. It was understood
that the subject was to be abandoned. Julian addressed a question to the
Bishop across the table. Lord Maltenby consulted Doctor Lennard as
to the date of the first Punic War. Mr. Stenson admired the flowers.
Catherine, who had been sitting with her eyes riveted upon the Prime
Minister, turned to her neighbour.

"Tell me about your amateur journalism, Mr. Orden?" she begged. "I have
an idea that it ought to be interesting."

"Deadly dull, I can assure you."

"You write about politics? Or perhaps you are an art critic? I ought to
be on my best behaviour, in case."

"I know little about art," he assured her. "My chief interest in
life--outside my profession, of course--lies in sociology."

His little confession had been impulsive. She raised her eyebrows.

"You are in earnest, I believe!" she exclaimed. "Have I really found an
Englishman who is in earnest?"

"I plead guilty. It is incorrect philosophy but a distinct stimulus to
life."

"What a pity," she sighed, "that you are so handicapped by bi