[He rises.  Katherine goes quickly out on to the terrace.  One by one they all follow to the window.  One by one go out on to the terrace, till more is left alone.  He turns to the bay window.  The music is swelling, coming nearer.  More leaves the window—­his face distorted by the strafe of his emotions.  He paces the room, taking, in some sort, the rhythm of the march.]

     [Slowly the music dies away in the distance to a drum-tap and the
     tramp of a company.  More stops at the table, covering his eyes
     with his hands.]

     [The deputation troop back across the terrace, and come in at the
     French windows.  Their faces and manners have quite changed. 
     Katherine follows them as far as the window.]

Home. [In a strange, almost threatening voice] It won’t do, Mr. More.  Give us your word, to hold your peace!

Shelder.  Come!  More.

Wace.  Yes, indeed—­indeed!

Banning.  We must have it.

More. [Without lifting his head] I—­I——­

     The drum-tap of a regiment marching is heard.

Banning.  Can you hear that go by, man—­when your country’s just been struck?

     Now comes the scale and mutter of a following crowd.

More.  I give you——­

Then, sharp and clear above all other sounds, the words:  “Give the beggars hell, boys!” “Wipe your feet on their dirty country!” “Don’t leave ’em a gory acre!” And a burst of hoarse cheering.

More. [Flinging up his head] That’s reality!  By Heaven!  No!

Katherine.  Oh!

Shelder.  In that case, we’ll go.

Banning.  You mean it?  You lose us, then!

     [More bows.]

Home.  Good riddance! [Venomously—­his eyes darting between more and Katherine] Go and stump the country!  Find out what they think of you!  You’ll pardon me!

One by one, without a word, only banning looking back, they pass out into the hall.  More sits down at the table before the pile of newspapers.  Katherine, in the window, never moves.  Olive comes along the terrace to her mother.

Olive.  They were nice ones!  Such a lot of dirty people following, and some quite clean, Mummy. [Conscious from her mother’s face that something is very wrong, she looks at her father, and then steals up to his side] Uncle Hubert’s gone, Daddy; and Auntie Helen’s crying.  And—­look at Mummy!

     [More raises his head and looks.]

Olive.  Do be on our side!  Do!

     She rubs her cheek against his.  Feeling that he does not rub
     his cheek against hers, olive stands away, and looks from him to
     her mother in wonder.