“It is,” Hebblethwaite admitted.  “I trust you, Norgate, and I look upon you as a friend.  I tell you what the whole world of responsible men and women might as well know, but which we naturally don’t care about shouting from the housetops.  We have come to the conclusion that there is no possible chance of the peace of Europe being disturbed.  We have come to the conclusion that civilisation has reached that pitch when the last resource of arms is absolutely unnecessary.  I do not mind telling you that the Balkan crisis presented opportunities to any one of the Powers to plunge into warfare, had they been so disposed.  No one bade more boldly for peace then than Germany.  No one wants war.  Germany has nothing to gain by it, no animosity against France, none towards Russia.  Neither of these countries has the slightest intention, now or at any time, of invading Germany.  Why should they?  The matter of Alsace and Lorraine is finished.  If these provinces ever come back to France, it will be by political means and not by any mad-headed attempt to wrest them away.”

“Incidentally,” Norgate asked, “what about the enormous armaments of Germany?  What about her navy?  What about the military spirit which practically rules the country?”

“I have spent three months in Germany during the last year,” Hebblethwaite replied.  “It is my firm belief that those armaments and that fleet are necessary to Germany to preserve her place of dignity among the nations.  She has Russia on one side and France on the other, allies, watching her all the time, and of late years England has been chipping at her whenever she got a chance, and flirting with France.  What can a nation do but make herself strong enough to defend herself against unprovoked attack?  Germany, of course, is full of the military spirit, but it is my opinion, Norgate, that it is a great deal fuller of the great commercial spirit.  It isn’t war with Germany that we have to fear.  It’s the ruin of our commerce by their great assiduity and more up-to-date methods.  Now you’ve had a statement of policy from me for which the halfpenny Press would give me a thousand guineas if I’d sign it.”

“I’ve had it,” Norgate admitted, “and I tell you frankly that I hate it.  I am an unfledged young diplomat in disgrace, and I haven’t your experience or your brains, but I have a hateful idea that I can see the truth and you can’t.  You’re too big and too broad in this matter, Hebblethwaite.  Your head’s lifted too high.  You see the horrors and the needlessness, the logical side of war, and you brush the thought away from you.”

Mr. Hebblethwaite sighed.

“Perhaps so,” he admitted.  “One can only act according to one’s convictions.  You must remember, though, Norgate, that we don’t carry our pacificism to extremes.  Our navy is and always will be an irresistible defence.”

“Even with hostile naval and aeroplane bases at—­say—­Calais, Boulogne, Dieppe, Ostend?”