said. Go back to your own
country of course. You can't help yourself."

I have no doubt that Gorman meant exactly what he said. If he had been
in Ascher's position, if once the issue became quite plain to him and
the tangle of political alliances were swept away, he would have thrown
all his interests and every other kind of honour to the wind. He would
have sacrificed his business, would if necessary have parted with his
wife; he would have been loyal to the land of his birth, entirely
contemptuous of any other call or any claim.

Mrs. Ascher clung tightly to her husband's arm. "Words," she said,
"words, only words. You must not listen to him."

Ascher felt for her hands again, grasped them and held them pressed
close against him. He turned from Gorman to me.

"And you," he said, "what are you going to do?"

The question took me by surprise. I had no difficult decision to make.
My course was in clear daylight. Besides, it did not matter to any one
what I did.

"You, yourself," said Ascher again. "What are you going to do?"

"Oh," I said, "I'm going back to my regiment. I suppose they'll take me.
Anyhow I shall offer myself."

"And fight?" said Ascher.

"Well, yes. I suppose I shall fight. This war won't be over in a week.
I'm pretty sure to get my turn. Yes, I shall almost certainly fight."

"Why?" said Ascher. "What will you fight for?"

It was Gorman who answered the question. He had recovered from his brief
outburst, and had become the normal Gorman again.

"The war," he said, "is for the liberation of Europe. It is a vast
struggle, an Armageddon in which the forces of reaction, absolutism,
tyranny, a military caste are ranged against democracy. It is their last
appearance upon the stage of history. Vindicated now, the principles of
democracy----"

"If you think," I said, "that I'm going out to fight for the principles
of democracy, you're making a big mistake. There's nothing in the world
I dislike more than that absurd democracy of yours."

"Then why?" said Ascher, mildly persistent. "Why are you going to
fight?"

"Well," I said, "I don't want to say anything offensive about your
people, Ascher. The Germans have a lot of fine qualities, but if
they were to win this war, if they were to succeed in imposing their
civilisation and their mentality on us all, if they were to Germanise
the world, the sense of humour would perish from among men. Nobody
would any longer be able to laugh. We--we should f