’But you mustn’t forget the women who have done such great things for the country.’

’I know—­but what’s it all for?  Since this battle of the Somme our casualties have been frightful, and every day means so many of our real men killed, and so many more shirkers and rotters in proportion to carry on the life of England.  We’ve had our women’s revolution all right.  There are not many of the old barriers left; but what a mess we have made of our freedom!  When I think of all that, and then recall what you said about war, I know that you were right, and we were wrong.’

‘You are wonderfully brave,’ said Selwyn, ’not only for having done so much, but in telling me that.’

‘No,’ she said, lowering her eyes to the gloves which she held in her hand; ’I have lost all my courage.  Every night I feel as if another day of meeting the wounded will kill me. . . .  If it could only end!  Anything would be better than these awful casualty lists.’

’Elise’—­he raised himself on his elbow and leaned towards her—­’you prove yourself a woman when you say that; but you’re wrong.  I can’t give my reasons yet, but since last night I have been seeing clearer and clearer that Britain not only must not lose, but must win.  I know other men have said it ten thousand times, but only to-day have I begun to see that, in its own strange, unidealistic manner, this Empire is fighting for civilisation.’

’Then’—­her eyes were lit with sudden, glistening radiancy—­’then you don’t think our men have died uselessly?’

‘I could not believe in God,’ he answered, wondering at the calm certainty of his voice uttering things which would have infuriated him a few hours before, ’if I thought that this war’s dead had fallen for nothing.’  His hand, which had been raised in gesture, fell limply on the bed.  ‘Up to yesterday,’ he went on slowly, ’I reasoned truth; to-day—­I feel truth.  I wonder if it is not always so, that higher knowledge begins with the end of reasoning.’

For a couple of minutes neither spoke, and his head was throbbing with anvil-beats.  Twice she started to speak, but stopped each time as though distrustful of her own words.

‘I am going back to America, Elise.’  His dreamy eyes were gazing beyond her into the distance, or he might have noted that the colour in her cheeks fluctuated suddenly and the fingers on her gloves tightened.

‘Why?’ There was nothing in her voice to indicate anything but casual interest.

‘I must go back,’ he said, leaning towards her—­’back to my own country.  You don’t understand. . . .  There comes a moment when every fibre of a man’s being craves for his own people, for the very air that he breathed as a boy.  All these wasted months and last night’s climax of damnable murder have left me dazed.  I am floundering hopelessly—­but at home I shall be able to clear my mind of its mists and see this whole thing as it really is.’