in love with some of the Government's proceedings than you
are. We landlords may have to defend ourselves. I want, if I may say
so, to keep your influence intact for the things that really matter.
You and I, and all the other Brookshire landlords, may have, at some
point, to act together. But we shall resist unreasonable demands
much more easily if we accept the reasonable ones.'

The Squire shook his head. The suave tone of the speaker had clearly
begun to rasp his nerves.

'No! You and I have really nothing in common. You may take it from
me that I shall not give these men notice. What happens then?'

'The Government steps in,' said Sir Henry quietly.

'And turns them out? Very well, let them. And the park?'

'We are, of course, most anxious to consult you.'

'Excuse me, that's nonsense! I refuse--that's flat.'

Sir Henry shrugged his shoulders. His tone became a trifle colder.

'I can't believe that you will refuse. You can't deny--no sensible
man could--that we've simply got to grow more food at home. The
submarines have settled that for us.'

'Who brought the submarines upon us? The politicians! No
politicians, no war! If it hadn't been for a pack of idiots called
diplomats making mischief abroad, and a pack of incompetents called
politicians unable to keep their heads at home, there'd have been no
war. It's Russia's war--France's war! Who asked the country whether
it wanted a war? Who asked _me_?' The Squire, standing opposite to
Sir Henry, tapped his chest vehemently.

'The country is behind the war,' said Chicksands firmly.

'How do we know? How do you know? I've as much right to an opinion
as you, and I tell you the country is sick and tired of the war. We
are all dying of the war! We shall all be paupers because of the
war! What is France to me, or Belgium? We shall have lost men,
money, security--half the things that make life worth living--for
what?'

'Honour!' said Sir Henry sharply, as he got on his feet.

'_Honour_!' sneered Mannering--'what's honour? It means one thing to
me and another to you. Aubrey bangs me over the head with it. But
I'm like the Doctor in the Punch and Judy show--he thinks he's
knocked me flat. He hasn't. I've a new argument every time he comes.
And as for my daughters, they think me a lunatic--a stingy lunatic
besides--because I won't give to their Red Cross shows and bazaars.
I've nothing to give. The income tax gentlemen have taken care of
that.'

'Yet you spend