"
"Do go on, please," the Countess begged.
Mr. Stenson shook his head.
"Even as a private individual I have said more than I intended,"
he replied. "I have only one thing to say about the war in
public, and that is that we are winning, that we must win, that
our national existence depends upon winning, and that we shall go
on until we do win. The obstacles between us and victory, which
may remain in our minds, are not to be spoken of."
There was a brief and somewhat uncomfortable pause. It was
understood that the subject was to be abandoned. Julian addressed
a question to the Bishop across the table. Lord Maltenby
consulted Doctor Lennard as to the date of the first Punic War.
Mr. Stenson admired the flowers. Catherine, who had been sitting
with her eyes riveted upon the Prime Minister, turned to her
neighbour.
"Tell me about your amateur journalism, Mr. Orden?" she begged.
"I have an idea that it ought to be interesting."
"Deadly dull, I can assure you."
"You write about politics? Or perhaps you are an art critic? I
ought to be on my best behaviour, in case."
"I know little about art," he assured her. "My chief interest in
life--outside my profession, of course--lies in sociology."
His little confession had been impulsive. She raised her
eyebrows.
"You are in earnest, I believe!" she exclaimed. "Have I really
found an Englishman who is in earnest?"
"I plead guilty. It is incorrect philosophy but a distinct
stimulus to life.
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