e. Jerry met him in Washington the other day and seems to
regard him as a find. He has no business sense and has given away
practically everything. Now we are going to capitalize him; I believe
that's the word. I never saw him before tonight"--her voice sank to a
whisper--"and, do you know, I hope I never shall again." She shrugged.
"Listen to him."

Several of the guests were already doing that. His toneless voice rose
and fell monotonously, and he appeared so detached from what he was
saying that as Evelyn gazed at him she seemed to find difficulty in
relating words that were said to the speaker; only the slight movement
of the lips and an occasional formless gesture made the association
definite.

"Doctor Allison," he was saying, "has missed the distinction between
_hostia honoraria_ and _hostia piacularis_. In the former case the deity
accepts the gift of a life; in the latter he demands it."

"What in the world are you all talking about now?" asked Evelyn
plaintively. "Not war--?"

"Sacrifice, Mrs. Colcord." Simec inclined his head slightly in her
direction.

"I was saying," explained Doctor Allison, "that we do well if we send
our young men to battle in the spirit of privileged sacrifice, as--as
something that is our--our--yes--our proud privilege, as I say, to do."

Simec shook his head in thoughtful negation.

"That is sentiment, excellent sentiment; unfortunately, it doesn't stand
assay. Reaction comes. We do better if we make our gift of blood as a
matter of unalterable necessity. We make too much of it all, in any
event. The vast evil of extended peace is the attachment of too great
value to luxuries and to human life--trite, but true. We know, of
course, that the world has progressed chiefly over the dead bodies of
men and, yes, women and children."

Some new element had entered into the voice. Whether it was herself or
whether it was Simec, Evelyn was in no mood to determine.... She was
aware only of a certain metallic cadence which beat cruelly upon her
nerves. Silence had followed, but not of the same sort as before. As
though seeking complete withdrawal, Evelyn turned her eyes out of the
window. A wayfarer, head down, was struggling through the nimbus of
watery electric light; a horse-drawn vehicle was plodding by. Colcord's
voice brought her back; it was strained.

"I don't feel as Allison does," he said. "And I certainly have no
sympathy with Simec." He leaned forward, his elbows on the tabl