"In other words," he complained, "you remembered that you were a
gentleman and not that you were a German."

"The Englishman of a certain order," Dominey pronounced, "even though
he be degenerate, has a certain obstinacy, generally connected with one
particular thing, which nothing can break. We talked together on that
last night until morning; we drank wine and brandy. I tore the story of
my own exile from my breast and laid it bare before him. Yet I knew all
the time, as I know now, that he kept something back."

There was a brief pause. During the last few minutes a certain
tension had crept in between the two men. With it, their personal
characteristics seemed to have become intensified. Dominey was more
than ever the aristocrat; Seaman the plebian schemer, unabashed and
desperately in earnest. He leaned presently a little way across the
table. His eyes had narrowed but they were as bright as steel. His teeth
were more prominent than usual.

"You should have dragged it from his throat," he insisted. "It is not
your duty to nurse fine personal feelings. Heart and soul you stand
pledged to great things. I cannot at this moment give you any idea what
you may not mean to us after the trouble has come, if you are able to
play your part still in this country as Everard Dominey of Dominey
Hall. I know well enough that the sense of personal honour amongst the
Prussian aristocracy is the finest in the world, and yet there is not a
single man of your order who should not be prepared to lie or cheat
for his country's sake. You must fall into line with your fellows. Once
more, it is not only your task with regard to Terniloff which makes
your recognition as Everard Dominey so important to us. It is the things
which are to come later.--Come, enough of this subject. I know that you
understand. We grow too serious. How shall you spend your evening until
eleven o'clock? Remember you did not leave England an anchorite, Sir
Everard. You must have your amusements. Why not try a music hall?"

"My mind is too full of other things," Dominey objected.

"Then come with me to Holborn," the little man suggested. "It will amuse
you. We will part at the door, and you shall sit at the back of the
hall, out of sight. You shall hear the haunting eloquence of your
cousin-in-law. You shall hear him trying to warn the men and women of
England of the danger awaiting them from the great and rapacious German
nation. What do you say?"

"I will co