Alix told John, in her clear, indifferent, rather melancholy little voice, about the peace conference. In common with many children of two intensely enthusiastic parents (her father had been a Polish liberationist, who had died in a Russian prison) she had a certain half-cynical detachment from and indifference to ardours and causes. Her mother was always up to some stirring enterprise, always pursuing some vividly seen star. She had been at Newnham in the days when girls went to college ardently, full of aims and ideals and self-realisations and great purposes (instead of as now, because it seems the natural thing to do after school for those with any leanings towards learning) and she had lived her life at the same high pitch ever since. Alix found her admirable, but discomposing. She found Alix engaging, even intriguing, but narrow-hearted, selfish and indolent; she accused her of shrinking from the world's griefs in a way unworthy of her revolutionary father, whom she closely resembled in face and brain. John was rather interested in the peace conference. He had read something about it the other day in one of the periodicals which flourished in the University to which he belonged, and which wholly approved of the enterprise. Not that John, for his part, wholly approved of the periodical; he found it a trifle unbalanced, heady, partisan. John was a very fair-minded and level-headed young man, of conservative traditions. But independent, too. When the temporary second lieutenant with both legs blown off, who had occupied the next bed to his in the Royal Free, had said, perusing the comments on the peace conference in the periodical in question (under the heading 'A Triumph of Pacifism'), 'What sickening piffle, isn't it?' John had said, after a little cogitation, 'Well, I don't know. They _mean_ well.' The legless lieutenant (Trinity Hall) had snorted, 'They mean well to the Boche.... After all our _trouble_ ... all the legs we've lost ... to cave in now.... Besides, what do _they_ think they can do? A lot of people gassing.... I wonder who they _are_?' John had said he believed one of his aunts was keen on it. 'Sort of thing aunts _would_ be keen on,' the other youth had vaguely, and, indeed, quite inaccurately commented. On the whole John didn't much hold by such movements, but he took a more lenient view of them than the rest of his family did. His father said, 'A little premature, discussing peace terms before we know we're going to be in a position to dictate them.' His mother murmured, 'Peace, peace, where there is no peace,' and smiled kindly at Alix to comfort her for her mother. Dorothy said, answering her father, 'Well, _of course_ we know we are. But I don't see any use in discussing things beforehand, anyhow: we shall be able to think when the time comes.'