"Ach, you mean the war!" her hostess said. "My husband is so reticent on the subject. I never hear anything at all. You think it will really come to that?" "No doubt whatever—unless the English are ready to eat humble-pie. They are afraid of us because they see we are getting stronger, but they are equally afraid to strike. Their ancestors would have struck years ago, and now it is too late. Their navy is big on paper, but absolutely untried. As to their army——" He laughed good-naturedly. "That won’t give us much trouble." "You mean that it is not big enough?" Frau von Hollander was pretending to forget Nora’s existence, but there was a spite in her tone which was not altogether unpardonable. She was grateful for this opportunity to pay back the slights of the last hour. "It is not merely too small," the officer returned judiciously; "it is no good against men like ours. Their so-called regulars are picked up out of the gutters, and the rest are untrained clerks and schoolboys who scarcely know how to shoot——" Nora turned. "That is a lie!" she said deliberately. The conversation had been carried on loud enough to reach the adjoining carriages, and Nora’s clear voice caused more than one occupant to turn in her direction. They saw a pretty young woman standing erect, white-lipped, with shining eyes, confronting a scarlet-faced officer, who for a moment appeared too taken aback to answer. "I beg your pardon, _gnädige Frau_," he stammered at last, with his hand lifted mechanically to his helmet. "I—I did not quite understand——" "I said that it was a lie," Nora repeated. "Everything you said was a lie. We are not afraid of you, and our soldiers are the best and bravest soldiers in the world!" The dragoon looked helplessly at Frau von Hollander, and the latter decided on a belated rescue. "It is most unfortunate," she said with pious regret. "I really quite forgot for the moment. Frau von Arnim was English before her marriage——" "——and is English still!" Nora interrupted proudly. "Please let me pass. I am going home." "Then tell the coachman. I cannot let you walk." Frau von Hollander was now thoroughly alarmed. She felt that the matter had gone too far, and was ready to atone in any possible way. But Nora thrust the detaining hand aside. "I would rather walk," she said between her clenched teeth. She sprang from the carriage, ignoring the dragoon’s offer of assistance. That unfortunate young officer followed her, his face crimson with very real distress. "Please forgive me, _gnädige Frau_," he stammered. "How was I to know? Your name was German, and I had no idea—and a fellow talks such rot sometimes. Please forgive me!" He was so young, so sincere and boyish in his regret that her heart under any other circumstances might have softened. But the insult had fallen on an open wound, and the pain was intolerable. "You said what you thought, and you lied," she said. "That is all that matters."