‘That isn’t the way the English do things,’ said Watson without pausing in his playing.

‘My dear fellow,’ said Selwyn, ’don’t let the pose of modesty fool you over here.  They profess to hold up their hands in horror when we get hold of megaphones and roar about “The Star-Spangled Banner,” but what of the phrases, “The Empire on which the sun never sets,” “What we have we’ll hold,” “Mistress of the Seas”?  Is there so much difference between the Kaiser’s “Ich und Gott” and the Englishman’s “God of our far-flung battle-line”?  Jingoism!  We’re amateurs in America compared with the British—­and you’re caught by it all.’

‘Nothing of the sort,’ said Watson, putting down the ukulele.  ’All I know is that Germany runs amuck and gives a mighty good imitation of hell let loose.  I am not discounting the wonderful bravery of France and Belgium, but you know that the hope of everything lies right in this country here.  Well, that’s good enough for me.  I’m a hundred per cent.  American, but right now I’m willing to throw over my citizenship in the United States and join this Empire that’s got the guts to go to war.’

‘Listen, Doug,’ said Selwyn, moving over to the younger man and placing his hands on his shoulders; ’can’t you see that Germany is not the menace?  She is only a symptom of it.  War, not Germany, is the real enemy.  I admire your pluck:  my regret is that you are so blind.  The whole world is turning murder loose; it is prostituting Christian civilisation to the war-lust—­and you imagine that by slaughter Right may prevail.  The tragic fallacy of the ages has been that men, instead of destroying evil, have destroyed each other.  If every criminal in the world were executed, would crime end?  Then, do you think the annihilation of this or that army will abolish war?’

‘I haven’t your gift of plausible argument,’ said Watson, ’and I suppose that theoretically you are sound in everything you say.  Yet, instinctively, I know that I am doing the right thing.’

‘A woman’s reasoning, Doug.’  Selwyn relit his cigar, which had gone out.  ’For a few days after the outbreak of war I will admit that I doubted, myself, and wondered if, after all, there was a universal heart-beat.  Then came the news of the silent march of those thousands of women down Fifth Avenue, marching to the beat of muffled drums as a protest against war—­not against Germany—­higher than that.  It was a symbol that the cry of Rachel for her children still rings through the centuries.  It was the heart of America’s women calling to the mothers of France, Germany, and Britain against this butchery of their sons.’

Selwyn sank into a chair, and a look of weariness succeeded the momentary flush of excitement.