Amory was a little pale. It was the best of news, and yet she was a little pale. Perhaps she was faint because she had not had any tea. "Cosimo's coming home," she said. There was a moment's silence, and then the congratulations broke out. "Oh, good!" "Shall be glad to see the old boy!" "Finished his work, I suppose?" "Or perhaps it's something to do with this Collins business?" It was Mr. Brimby who had made this last remark. Amory turned to him slowly. "What is this Collins business?" she asked. Mr. Brimby dropped his sorrowing head. "Ah, poor fellow," he murmured. "I'm afraid he went to work on the wrong principles. A _little_ more conciliation ... but it's difficult to blame anybody in these cases. The System's at fault. Let us not be harsh. I quite agree with Wilkinson that the 'Pall Mall' to-night is very harsh." "Cowardly," said Mr. Wilkinson grimly. "Rubbing it in because they have some sort of a show of a case. They're always mum enough on the other side." Amory lifted her head. "But you say this might have something to do with Cosimo's coming back. Tell me at once what's happened.--And put that telegram down, Walter. It's mine." They had never heard Amory speak like this before. It was rather cool of her, in her own house, and quite contrary to the beautiful Chinese rule of politeness. And somehow her tone seemed, all at once, to dissipate a certain number of pretences that for the last hour or more they had been laboriously seeking to keep up. That, at any rate, was a relief. For a minute nobody seemed to want to answer Amory; then Mr. Wilkinson took it upon himself to do so--characteristically. "Nothing's happened," he said, "--nothing that we haven't all been talking about for a year and more. What the devil--let's be plain for once. To look at you, anybody'd think you hadn't meant it! By God, if _I'd_ had that paper of yours!... I told you at the beginning what Strong was--neither wanted to do things nor let 'em alone; but _I'd_ have shown you! I'd have had a dozen Prangs! But he didn't want one--and he didn't want to sack him--afraid all the time something 'ld happen, but daren't stop--doing too well out of it for that ... and now that it's happened, what's all the to-do about? You're always calling it War, aren't you? And it _is_ War, isn't it? Or only Brimby's sort of War--like everything else about Brimby?----" Here somebody tried to interpose, but Mr. Wilkinson raised his voice almost to a shout.