Queen Mary laughed.  Then her face clouded.

“It is all so very tragic,” she said.  “Have you seen the Queen?”

I replied that the Queen of the Belgians had received me a few days after my conversation with the King.

“She is very sad,” said Her Majesty.  “It is a terrible thing for her, especially as she is a Bavarian by birth.”

From that to the ever-imminent subject of the war itself was but a step.  An English officer had recently made a sensational escape from a German prison camp, and having at last got back to England, had been sent for by the King.  With the strange inconsistencies that seem to characterise the behaviour of the Germans, the man to whom he had surrendered after a gallant defence had treated him rather well.  But from that time on his story was one of brutalities and starvation.

The officer in question had told me his story, and I ventured to refer to it Her Majesty knew it quite well, and there was no mistaking the grief in her Voice as she commented on it, especially on that part of it which showed discrimination against the British prisoners.  Major V——­ had especially emphasised the lack of food for the private soldiers and the fearful trials of being taken back along the lines of communication, some fifty-two men being locked in one of the small Continental box cars which are built to carry only six horses.  Many of them were wounded.  They were obliged to stand, the floor of the car being inches deep with filth.  For thirty hours they had no water and no air, and for three days and three nights no food.

“I am to publish Major V——­’s statement in America, Your Majesty,” I said.

“I think America should know it,” said the Queen.  “It is most unjust.  German prisoners in England are well cared for.  They are well fed, and games and other amusements are provided for them.  They even play football!”

I stepped back as Her Majesty prepared to continue her visit round the long room.  But she indicated that I was to accompany her.  It was then that one realised that the Queen of England is the intensely practical daughter of a practical mother.  Nothing that is done in this Guild, the successor of a similar guild founded by the late Duchess of Teck, Her Majesty’s mother, escapes her notice.  No detail is too small if it makes for efficiency.  She selected at random garments from the tables, and examined them for warmth, for quality, for utility.

Generally she approved.  Before a great heap of heavy socks she paused.

“The soldiers like the knitted ones, we are told,” she said.  “These are not all knitted but they are very warm.”

A baby sweater of a hideous yellow roused in her something like wrath.

“All that labour!” she said, “and such a colour for a little baby!” And again, when she happened on a pair of felt slippers, quite the largest slippers I have ever seen, she fell silent in sheer amazement.  They amused her even while they shocked her.  And again, as she smiled, I regretted that the photographs of the Queen of England may not show her smiling.