en herself and his familiarity. She would have good
reason, for their companionship would be shared by Terry. Poor little
Terry, with her exaggerated sins and distorted self-accusations!

He wandered down to breakfast disturbed by these apprehensions. As the
morning dragged by they took shape as facts. Towards noon he could
tolerate his uncertainty no longer. He turned his steps in the direction
of the Castle, having first determined, if he found himself unwelcome,
to announce that the purpose of his visit was to bid good-by before
setting out for London.

III

He had been shown into the turret room and supplied with the daily
papers, while the same grave image who had admitted him the night
before, had departed in search of her Ladyship. More to calm himself
than to satisfy his curiosity, he commenced to glance through the news.

It was a disjointed world that the pages reflected--not at all the
kingdom round the corner for which the war had been fought. Honor,
patriotism, heroism seemed forgotten words. The old ruthless scramble
of commercialism had restarted. The honesty of everybody, whether
individuals, governments or nations, was being doubted. Class and race
hatreds had broken loose. Strikes were pending. The Allies were allied
only in name; they gnashed their teeth at one another across the
council-table in Paris. The lying game of diplomacy had been revived.
Poison-notes were being exchanged. The tabby-cat statesmen who had been
too old to fight, were busy sowing the seeds of future wars. The
politicians who had nailed mankind to the cross, were casting lots for
the raiment which had survived the sacrifice. No one asked, "Is this
righteousness?" The only question was, "How much of it belongs to me?"
Meanwhile, the children of honester men who had died, starved by their
hundreds of thousands. Mothers pressed sick babies to their milkless
breasts. The mutilated, stoical with neglect, shuffled along the
pavements. Fanatics of despair turned hopeful eyes to Russia where a
devilment was brewing which, should it overboil, would pour destruction
across five continents. No one cared.

He glanced through the window at the quiet landscape, lying green and
sun-dappled against the wet, gray streak of summer sky. Was his own
experience so universal? Were kingdoms perpetually round the corner,
always and always out of sight?

As he again took up the paper, his eye was caught by a head-line: STEELY
JACK RUNS FOR PARL