"I am not a soldier, Miss Wellington. But all victories are not won on the battlefields. The art--one of the arts--of diplomacy is to bring on war, if war must be, when you are ready and your adversaries are not. There are other functions. Let it be so. I but observe that one may wield things other than the sword and better than the sword, to serve one's country." "I quite believe you." There was enthusiasm in her voice. "You may never expect the glory of the soldier, and yet how glorious the work must be! The matching of wits instead of guns, and then--you have the opportunity of winning the victories of peace--" "Of which the world seldom hears," interpolated the Prince. "But that makes it finer," she said. "Have we any real diplomats, who--oh, I don't know--make themselves felt in the inner circle of things: men that we--that the country--does not know of, who are doing the--the things you are?" The Prince smiled. "I don't know really. You have the 'new diplomacy' which is shouting what other people whisper--or keep to themselves--and _le gros gourdin_--the laughable big stick; it amuses us more than it impresses, I assure you." He regarded the girl closely and she smiled questioningly. "You do not flush! You are not irritated?" he asked. "Why should I be? What do you mean?" "I was speaking lightly of your country." "Oh, were you? I did not notice. I fear I am used to that, having spent much time in Europe." The Prince looked at her curiously. She colored. "No," she said, "I do not go in strongly for the _furore Americanus_, if that is what you mean." "So. Your country must look to its _bourgeoise_ for its Joans of Arc. But then your men are ungallantly self-sufficient. In Russia," the Prince shrugged his shoulders, "we send women to Siberia--or decorate them with the Order of St. Katherine." "You actually shame me, Prince Koltsoff. We are different here; even our suffragettes would by no means allow devotion to their cause to carry them to jail; and as for influencing statesmen, or setting their plans at naught--" she shook her head--"why, I do not even know who they are. They are not in our set," laughing. "Really, we are pretty much butterflies from your--from any--viewpoint, are n't we? But after all, why?" "Ah, why?" He turned to her suddenly. "Do you love your country, Miss Wellington?" "What an absurd question! Of course I do." "Easily answered," replied the Prince, "but think a moment. I said _love_. That love which inspired your women to send their sons and husbands to die for their country in your Civil War; the love that exalted Charlotte Corday. Have you breathed the quicker when you saw your flag in foreign lands?" He looked at her strangely. "Would you loathe the man you loved if you learnt he had injured your country? Think, Miss Wellington."