“It is true,” the young man assented solemnly.  “One finds it everywhere.”

“Before the war,” Catherine went on, “it was Germany who was hated everywhere.  She pushed her way into the best places at hotels, watering places—­Monte Carlo, for instance and the famous spas.  Today, all that accumulated dislike seems to be turned upon England.  I am not myself a great admirer of this country, and yet I ask myself why?”

“England is smug,” the young man pronounced; “She is callous; she is, without meaning to be, hypocritical.  She works herself into a terrible state of indignation about the misdeeds of her neighbours, and she does not realise her own faults.  The Germans are overbearing, but one realises that and expects it.  Englishmen are irritating.  It is certainly true that amongst us remaining neutrals,” he added, dropping his voice a little and looking around to be sure of their isolation, “the sympathy remains with the Central Powers.”

“I have some dear friends in this country, too,” Catherine sighed.

“Naturally—­amongst those of your own order.  But then there is very little difference between the aristocracies of every race in the world.  It is the bourgeoisie which tells, which sets its stamp upon a nation’s character.”

Their tea had arrived, and for a few moments the conversation travelled in lighter channels.  The young man, who was a person of some consequence in his own country, spoke easily of the theatres, of mutual friends, of some sport in which he had been engaged.  Catherine relapsed into the role which had been her first in life, —­the young woman of fashion.  As such they attracted no attention save a few admiring glances on the part of passers-by towards Catherine.  As the people around them thinned out a little, their conversation became more intimate.

“I shall always feel,” the young man said thoughtfully, “that in these days I have lived very near great things.  I have seen and realised what the historians will relate at second-hand.  The greatest events move like straws in the wind.  A month ago, it seemed as though the Central Powers would lose the war.”

“I suppose,” she observed, “it depends very much upon what you mean by winning it?  The terms of peace are scarcely the terms of victory, are they?”

“The terms of peace,” he repeated thoughtfully.

“We happen to know what they are, do we not?” she continued, speaking almost under her breath, “the basic terms, at any rate.”

“You mean,” he said slowly, “the terms put forward by the Socialist Party of Germany to ensure the granting of an armistice?”

“And acceded to,” she reminded him, “by the Kaiser and the two greatest German statesmen.”

He toyed with his teacup, drew a gold cigarette case from his pocket, selected a cigarette, and lit it.

“You would try to make me believe,” he remarked, smiling at his companion, “that to-day you are not in your most intelligent mood.”