ributed
to this terrible thing by its ignorance? What is there in that which
merits the name of traitor?'

Van Derwater shrugged his shoulders, and taking a book from the table,
idly studied its cover. 'Since the war began,' he said, his tones calm
and low, 'the United States has been trying to speak with one voice,
the voice of a united people. It was the plain duty of every American
to aid the Administration in that. Instead, what have we found?
Pro-Germans plotting outrage, and pro-Britishers casting slurs;
conspiracy, political blackmailing, financial pressure--everywhere she
has looked, this country has found within her borders the factors of
disruption. We have fought them all. We have refused to be bullied or
cajoled into choosing a false national destiny. At the moment that we
seem to have accomplished something--with Europe looking to us for the
final decision that must come--you, and others of your kind, contrive
to poison the great educated, decent-thinking class that we always
thought secure. Your cry of "Peace--peace--at any price let us have
peace," has done its work. Consciously or unconsciously, Austin, you
have been a traitor.'

Selwyn rose furiously to his feet. 'This is the end of our
friendship,' he said, with his voice almost choking, and his shoulders
chafing under the passion which possessed him. 'Your chief has chosen
to name me as a reason for keeping you in America, and so it is I who
have come between you and Marjory. For that I am sorry. But when you
question my loyalty to America--that is the finish.'

Van Derwater had also risen to his feet and with the utmost courtesy
listened to Selwyn's outburst. More than ever there was a mystic
atmosphere of the Past in his bearing. He might have been a diplomat
of the sixteenth century bidding adieu to a thwarted enemy
plenipotentiary.

'Austin,' he said, with the merest inclination of his head, and his
arms hanging wearily by his sides, 'we live in difficult times.'

With an angry gesture, Selwyn left the room, and taking his coat and
hat from the negro, went again into the street.

Closing his study door, Van Derwater moved slowly to his chair, and
lifting his book, opened it. For a long time he gazed at the open page
without reading a line. 'Difficult times,' he murmured.

III.

Still in the grip of uncontrollable fury, Selwyn stamped his way
through the streets. Colliding heavily with a passer-by, he turned and
curse