Two of her three sons had been killed in France, but she did not mention this.  The English do not advertise their sorrows.  Still another explanation when husbands and sons and brothers come back across the Channel for a few days’ leave after long months in the trenches, nothing is too good for them.  And when these days have flown, there is always the possibility that there may never be another leave.  Not long ago I read a heart-rending article about the tragedies of the goodbyes in the stations and the terminal hotels—­tragedies hidden by silence and a smile.  “Well, so long,” says an officer “bring back a V. C.,” cries his sister from the group on the platform, and he waves his hand in deprecation as the train pulls out, lights his pipe, and pretends to be reading the Sphere.

Some evening, perchance, you happen to be in the dark street outside of Charing Cross station.  An occasional hooded lamp throws a precarious gleam on a long line of men carrying—­so gently—­stretchers on which lie the silent forms of rich and poor alike.

CHAPTER II

For the student of history who is able to place himself within the stream of evolution the really important events of today are not taking place on the battle lines, but behind them.  The key-note of the new era has been struck in Russia.  And as I write these words, after the Italian retreat, a second revolution seems possible.  For three years one has thought inevitably of 1789, and of the ensuing world conflict out of which issued the beginnings of democracy.  History does not repeat itself, yet evolution is fairly consistent.  While our attention has been focused on the military drama enacted before our eyes and recorded in the newspapers, another drama, unpremeditated but of vastly greater significance, is unfolding itself behind the stage.  Never in the history of the world were generals and admirals, statesmen and politicians so sensitive to or concerned about public opinion as they are today.  From a military point of view the situation of the Allies at the present writing is far from reassuring.  Germany and her associates have the advantage of interior lines, of a single dominating and purposeful leadership, while our five big nations, democracies or semi-democracies, are stretched in a huge ring with precarious connections on land, with the submarine alert on the sea.  Much of their territory is occupied.  They did not seek the war; they still lack co-ordination and leadership in waging it.  In some of these countries, at least, politicians and statesmen are so absorbed by administrative duties, by national rather than international problems, by the effort to sustain themselves, that they have little time for allied strategy.  Governments rise and fall, familiar names and reputations are juggled about like numbered balls in a shaker, come to the top to be submerged again in a new ‘emeute’.  There are conferences and conferences without end.  Meanwhile a social ferment is at work, in Russia conspicuously, in Italy a little less so, in Germany and Austria undoubtedly, in France and England, and even in our own country—­once of the most radical in the world, now become the most conservative.