remark, he thought, that he
would have expected Margaret to make. With all the horror of genteel
pauperism staring her in the face, that woman was thinking big, and was
keeping her head up. With all the bitterness of loss behind her, she
had, that very day, so she told him, been helping another more
fortunate one to choose frocks for her husband's next leave. . . .

Try as he might, he could not rid himself of the mocking question "Cui
bono?" What was the use of this individual heroism to the country at
large? As far as the woman herself was concerned it kept her human,
but to the big community . . .? Would even the soldiers when they came
back be strong enough, and collected enough, to do any good? And how
many of them really thought . . .?

Surely there must be some big, and yet very simple, message which the
war could teach. Big because the result had been so wonderful; simple
because the most stupid had learned it. And if they had learned it
over the water, surely they could remember it afterwards. . . . pass it
on to others. It might even be taught in the schools for future
generations to profit by.

It was not discipline or so-called militarism; they were merely the
necessary adjuncts to a life where unhesitating obedience is the only
thing which prevents a catastrophe. It was not even tradition and
playing the game, though it seemed to him he was getting nearer the
answer. But these were not fundamental things; they were to a certain
extent acquired. He wanted something simpler than that--something
which came right at the beginning, a message from the bedrock of the
world; something which was present in France--something which seemed to
be conspicuous by its absence in England.

"We've caught these fellows," he said one evening after dinner to a
regular Major whose life had taken him all over the world, "and we've
altered 'em. Their brothers are here at home; they themselves were
here a short while ago--will be back in the future. They are the same
breed; they come from the same stock. What is this thing that has done
it? What gospel has been preached to 'em to turn them into the salt of
the earth, while at home here the others are unchanged, except for the
worse?"

The Major shifted his pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other.
"The gospel that was preached two thousand odd years ago," he answered
shortly. Vane looked at him curiously. "I admit I hardly expected
that answer, Major,