aback. They confronted
each other. Elizabeth began to look disturbed. Her eyelids flickered
once or twice.

'I think we ought to be quite serious,' she said hurriedly. 'I
don't want you to misunderstand me. If you knew how I valued this
opportunity of doing this classical work with you! It is
_wonderful_'--her voice wavered a little, or the Squire fancied
it--'what you have taught me even in this short time. I am proud to
have been your secretary--and your pupil. If it were only that'--she
paused--'but you have also been so kind as to--to take me into your
confidence--to let me do things for you, outside of what you engaged
me for. I see plainly that--if I go on with this--I shall become
your secretary--your agent in fact--for a great many things besides
Greek.'

Then she made an impetuous step forward.

'Mr. Mannering!--the atmosphere of this house chokes me!'

The Squire dropped back into his chair, watching her with eyes in
which he tried--not very successfully--to keep dignity alive.

'Your reasons?'

'I am with the _country_!' she said, not without signs of agitation;
'and you seem to me to care nothing about the country!'

Disputation was never unwelcome to the Squire. He riposted.

'Of course, we mean entirely different things by the word.'

She threw back her head slightly, with a gesture of scorn.

'We might argue that, if it were peace-time. But this is _war_! Your
country--my country--has the German grip at her throat. A few
months--and we are saved--or broken!--the country that gave us
birth--all we have--all we are!' Her words came short and thick,
and she had turned very white. 'And in this house there is never, in
your presence, a word of the war!--of the men who are dying by land
and sea--_dying_, that you and I may sit here in peace--that you may
talk to me about Greek poetry, and put spokes in the wheels of those
who are trying to feed us--and defend us--and beat off Germany.
Nothing for the wounded!--nothing for the hospitals! And you won't
let Pamela do anything! Not a farthing for the Red Cross! You made
me write a letter last week refusing a subscription. And then,
when they only ask you to let your land grow food--that the
German pirates and murderers mayn't starve us into a horrible
submission--_then_ you bar your gates--you make endless trouble,
when the country wants every hour of every man's time--you, in your
position, give the lead to every shirker and coward! No! I can't
bear