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〃Didn't you love him？〃 asked the girl； staring。 〃Wouldn't you have helped him？〃
〃I can't tell；〃 answered Joan。 〃I should have meant to。 Many men and women have loved； and have meant to help each other all their lives； and with the years have drifted asunder； coming even to be against one another。 We change and our thoughts change； slight differences of temperament grow into barriers between us； unguessed antagonisms widen into gulfs。 Accidents come into our lives。 A friend was telling me the other day of a woman who practically proposed to and married a musical genius； purely and solely to be of use to him。 She earned quite a big income； drawing fashions； and her idea was to relieve him of the necessity of doing pot… boilers for a living； so that he might devote his whole time to his real work。 And a few weeks after they were married she ran the point of a lead pencil through her eye and it set up inflammation of her brain。 And now all the poor fellow has to think of is how to make enough to pay for her keep at a private lunatic asylum。 I don't mean to be flippant。 It's the very absurdity of it all that makes the mystery of lifethat renders it so hopeless for us to attempt to find our way through it by our own judgment。 It is like the ants making all their clever； laborious plans； knowing nothing of chickens and the gardener's spade。 That is why we have to cling to the life we can order for ourselvesthe life within us。 Truth； Justice； Pity。 They are the strong things； the eternal things； the things we've got to sacrifice ourselves forserve with our bodies and our souls。
〃Don't think me a prig；〃 she pleaded。 〃I'm talking as if I knew all about it。 I don't really。 I grope in the dark； and now and thenat least so it seems to meI catch a glint of light。 We are powerless in ourselves。 It is only God working through us that enables us to be of any use。 All we can do is to keep ourselves kind and clean and free from self； waiting for Him to come to us。〃
The girl rose。 〃I must be getting back；〃 she said。 〃Dad will be wondering where I've got to。〃
She paused with the door in her hand； and a faint smile played round the thin red lips。
〃Tell me；〃 she said。 〃What is God？〃
〃A Labourer； together with man； according to Saint Paul；〃 Joan answered。
The girl turned and went。 Joan watched her as she descended the great staircase。 She moved with a curious； gliding motion； pausing at times for the people to make way for her。
CHAPTER XVI
It was a summer's evening； Joan had dropped in at the Greysons and had found Mary alone； Francis not having yet returned from a bachelor dinner at his uncle's； who was some big pot in the Navy。 They sat in the twilight； facing the open French windows； through which one caught a glimpse of the park。 A great stillness seemed to be around them。
The sale and purchase of the Evening Gazette had been completed a few days before。 Greyson had been offered the alternative of gradually and gracefully changing his opinions； or getting out； and had； of course； chosen dismissal。 He was taking a holiday； as Mary explained with a short laugh。
〃He had some shares in it himself； hadn't he？〃 Joan asked。
〃Oh； just enough to be of no use；〃 Mary answered。 〃Carleton was rather decent； so far as that part of it was concerned； and insisted on paying him a fair price。 The market value would have been much less； and he wanted to be out of it。〃
Joan remained silent。 It made her mad； that a man could be suddenly robbed of fifteen years' labour： the weapon that his heart and brain had made keen wrested from his hand by a legal process； and turned against the very principles for which all his life he had been fighting。
〃I'm almost more sorry for myself than for him；〃 said Mary； making a whimsical grimace。 〃He will start something else； so soon as he's got over his first soreness； but I'm too old to dream of another child。〃
He came in a little later and； seating himself between them； filled and lighted his pipe。 Looking back； Joan remembered that curiously none of them had spoken。 Mary had turned at the sound of his key in the door。 She seemed to be watching him intently； but it was too dark to notice her expression。 He pulled at his pipe till it was well alight and then removed it。
〃It's war；〃 he said。
The words made no immediate impression upon Joan。 There had been rumours； threatenings and alarms； newspaper talk。 But so there had been before。 It would come one day： the world war that one felt was gathering in the air； that would burst like a second deluge on the nations。 But it would not be in our time： it was too big。 A way out would be found。
〃Is there no hope？〃 asked Mary。
〃Yes；〃 he answered。 〃The hope that a miracle may happen。 The Navy's got its orders。〃
And suddenlyas years before in a Paris music hallthere leapt to life within Joan's brain a little impish creature that took possession of her。 She hoped the miracle would not happen。 The little impish creature within her brain was marching up and down beating a drum。 She wished he would stop a minute。 Someone was trying to talk to her； telling her she ought to be tremendously shocked and grieved。 Heor she； or whatever it was that was trying to talk to her； appeared concerned about Reason and Pity and Universal Brotherhood and Civilization's clockthings like that。 But the little impish drummer was making such a din； she couldn't properly hear。 Later on； perhaps； he would get tired； and then she would be able to listen to this humane and sensible person； whoever it might be。
Mary argued that England could and should keep out of it； but Greyson was convinced it would be impossible； not to say dishonourable： a sentiment that won the enthusiastic approval of the little drummer in Joan's brain。 He played 〃Rule Britannia〃 and 〃God Save the King；〃 the 〃Marseillaise〃 and the Russian National hymn； all at the same time。 He would have included 〃Deutschland uber Alles；〃 if Joan hadn't made a supreme effort and stopped him。 Evidently a sporting little devil。 He took himself off into a corner after a time； where he played quietly to himself； and Joan was able to join in the conversation。
Greyson spoke with an enthusiasm that was unusual to him。 So many of our wars had been mean warswars for the wrong； sordid wars for territory； for gold mines； wars against the weak at the bidding of our traders； our financiers。 〃Shouldering the white man's burden；〃 we called it。 Wars for the right of selling opium； wars to perpetuate the vile rule of the Turk because it happened to serve our commercial interests。 This time； we were out to play the knight； to save the smaller peoples； to rescue our once 〃sweet enemy；〃 fair France。 Russia was the disturbing thought。 It somewhat discounted the knight…errant idea； riding stirrup to stirrup beside that barbarian horseman。 But there were possibilities about Russia。 Idealism lay hid within that sleeping brain。 It would be a holy war for the Kingdom of the Peoples。 With Germany freed from the monster of blood and iron that was crushing out her soul； with Russia awakened to life； we would build the United States of Europe。 Even his voi