feel, be
worth living in after all. I smiled feebly at Gorman. He responded with
a delicious wink.

"What's happened to Home Rule?" I said.

"For the present it's hung up; a case of suspended animation; our idea
is that if we're thoroughly loyal now the English people will be so
grateful to us----"

"But they'll be just as grateful to the Ulstermen," I said. "They're
loyal, too, I suppose."

"That's the difficulty, of course," said Gorman. "But what else could
we do? If we'd allowed the Orangemen to make a corner in loyalty at the
present crisis----"

"Crisis!" I said. "How that word brings it all back to me? Are we still
going through a crisis? Fancy the word surviving!"

"It's about the only part of our old political system which does
survive. The rest's gone, hopelessly."

Gorman sighed, and I began to feel depressed again: But Gorman is not
the man to sorrow long, even over the decay of the British Constitution.
He dropped the unpleasant subject and started fresh.

"Tim," he said, "has been rather a disappointment to me. He hasn't
invented a single thing since the war began."

"I should have thought," I said, "that this would have been his
opportunity."

"So it is. The country's simply crying out for inventions. Aerial
torpedoes, traps for submarines, wireless methods of exploding the
enemy's ammunition, heaps of things of that sort. Tim might scoop up an
immense fortune and be made a baronet. But instead of inventing--and he
could if he chose--the young fool is flying about somewhere and dropping
bombs on German railways. I'm inclined to think it was a mistake putting
Tim into the Flying Corps at all. I wonder if we could get him out
again. Do you know any one you could write to about him?"

"No," I said, "not a soul."

"Pity," said Gorman. "A little personal influence helps a lot in things
of this sort, and a letter from you----"

I thought it time to change the subject.

"The Aschers?" I said. "Ever see them now?"

"I met her in the Park on Sunday. She's Red Crossing. Had on the most
elaborate costume you ever saw. Imagine a nurse's uniform brought up to
the standard of the highest art, or perhaps I ought to say an artistic
dress with the red cross for motif. She told me that she expects to go
to the Front next week."

"Thank God she didn't go sooner! She might have nursed me if she'd been
there in time."

"She'd have done it all right," said Gorman. "I hear she's a splendid
organiser in