Patricia sank down upon a chair far back under the trees opposite the Stanhope Gate. Here she remained in a vague way watching the people, yet unconscious of their presence. From time to time some snatch of meaningless conversation would reach her. "You know Betty's such a sport?" one man said to another. Patricia found herself wondering what Betty was like and what, to the speaker's mind, constituted being a sport. Was Betty pretty? She must be, Patricia decided; no one cared whether or no a plain girl were a sport. She found herself wanting to know Betty. What were the lives of all these people, these shadows, that were moving to and fro in front of her, each intent upon something that seemed of vital importance? Were they----? "I doubt if Cassandra could have looked more gloomily prophetic." She turned with a start and saw Geoffrey Elton smiling down upon her. "Did I look as bad as that?" she enquired, as he took a seat beside her. "You looked as if you were gratuitously settling the destinies of the world," he replied. "In a way I suppose I was," she said musingly. "You see they all mean something," indicating the paraders with a nod of her head, "tragedy, comedy, farce, sometimes all three. If you only stop to think about life, it all seems so hopeless. I feel sometimes that I could run away from it all." "That in the Middle Ages would have been diagnosed as the monastic spirit," said Elton. "It arose, and no doubt continues in most cases to arise from a sluggish liver." "How dreadful!" laughed Patricia. "The inference is obvious." "The world's greatest achievements and greatest tragedies could no doubt be traced directly to rebellious livers: Waterloo and 'Hamlet' are instances." "Are you serious?" enquired Patricia. She was never quite certain of Elton. "In a way I suppose I am," he replied. "If I were a pathologist I should write a book upon _The Influence of Disease upon the Destinies of the World_. The supreme monarch is the microbe. The Germans have shown that they recognise this." "Ugh!" Patricia shuddered. "Of course you have to make some personal sacrifice in the matter of self-respect first," continued Elton, "but after that the rest becomes easy." "I suppose that is what a German victory would mean," said Patricia. "Yes; we should give up lead and nickel and T.N.T., and invent germ distributors. Essen would become a great centre of germ-culture, and----" "Oh! please let us talk about something else," cried Patricia. "It's horrible!" "Well!" said Elton with a smile, "shall we continue our talk over lunch, if you have no engagement?" "Lady Peggy asked me----" began Patricia. "They're away in Somerset," said Elton, "so now I claim you as my victim. It is your destiny to save me from my own thoughts." "And yours to save me from roast pork and apple sauce," said Patricia, rising. As they walked towards Hyde Park Corner she explained the Galvin House cuisine.