“I have had to ask myself,” the Prince continued,—­“it has been my business to ask myself what is your position as a great military power, and the answer I have found is that as a great military power it does not exist.  I have had to ask myself what would happen to your country in the case of a European war, where your fleet was distributed to guard your vast possessions in every quarter of the world, and the answer to that is that you are, to all practical purposes, defenceless.  In almost any combination which could arrange itself, your country is at the mercy of the invader.”

Bransome leaned forward in his chair.

“I can disprove it,” he declared firmly.  “Come with me to Aldershot next week, and I will show you that those who say that we have no army are ignorant alarmists.  The Secretary for War shall show you our new scheme for defensive forces.  You have gone to the wrong authorities for information on these matters, Prince.  You have been entirely and totally misled.”

The Prince drew a little breath.

“Sir Edward,” he said, “I do not speak to you rashly.  I have not looked into these affairs as an amateur.  You forget that I have spent a week at Aldershot, that your Secretary for War gave me two days of his valuable time.  Every figure with which you could furnish me I am already possessed of.  I will be frank with you.  What I saw at Aldershot counted for nothing with me in my decision.  Your standing army is good, beyond a doubt,—­a well-trained machine, an excellent plaything for a General to move across the chessboard.  It might even win battles, and yet your standing army are mercenaries, and no great nation, from the days of Babylon, has resisted invasion or held an empire by her mercenaries.”

“They are English soldiers,” Mr. Haviland declared.  “I do not recognize your use of the word.”

“They are paid soldiers,” the Prince said, “men who have adopted soldiering as a profession.  Come, I will not pause half-way.  I will tell you what is wrong with your country.  You will not believe it.  Some day you will see the truth, and you will remember my words.  It may be that you will realize it a little sooner, or I would not have dared to speak as I am speaking.  This, then, is the curse which is eating the heart out of your very existence.  The love of his Motherland is no longer a religion with your young man.  Let me repeat that,—­I will alter one word only.  The love of his Motherland is no longer the religion or even part of the religion of your young man.  Soldiering is a profession for those who embrace it.  It is so that mercenaries are made.  I have been to every one of your great cities in the North.  I have been there on a Saturday afternoon, the national holiday.  That is the day in Japan on which our young men march and learn to shoot, form companies and attend their drill.  Feast days and holidays it is always the same.  They do what tradition has made a necessity for them.  They