That's how the intellectuals prove He doesn't exist. Either He is not almighty, they say, or else He is unjust enough not to make both sides win. But all those anthropomorphic conceptions are out of date now, even in England, as this gentleman very truly said. You see, it was so degrading, Rada, to think that God had anything in common with mankind (though love was once quite fashionable), and as we didn't know of anything higher than ourselves we were simply compelled to say that He resembled something lower, such as earthquakes, and tigers, and puppet-shows, and ideas of that sort. Reality above all things! You may see God in sunsets; but there was nothing _real_ about the _best_ qualities of mankind. It's curious. The more intellectual and original you are, the lower you have to go, and the more likely you are to end in the old dance of charlatans and beasts. I suppose that's an argument for tradition and growth. If we call it Evolution, nobody will mind very much. RADA (_wringing her hands in an agony of grief_). Oh, God, be pitiful, be pitiful! BRANDER (_standing in front of her_). Look here, we've had enough of this music. I've been watching you, and there's more upon your mind than sorrow for the dead. Why were you so anxious to wheedle us all out of the house? Tarrasch has warned you there'll be hell to pay when the others come back. What was the game, eh? You'd better tell me. You couldn't have thought you were going to escape through our lines to-night. (_There is a sudden uproar outside, and a woman's scream, followed by the terrified cry of a child._) Ah! Ah! Father! BRANDER. Hear that. The men are mad with brandy and blood and--other things. There's no holding them in, even from the children. You needn't wince. Even from the children, I say. What chance would there be for a fine-looking wench like yourself? No, you were not going to try that. You've something to hide, here, in the house, eh? Well, now you've got rid of the others, and we've had a drink, we're going to look for it. What is there? (_He points to the bedroom door._) RADA (_rising to her feet slowly, steadying herself with one hand on the couch and fixing her eyes on his face_). My bedroom. No. I've nothing here to hide. This is war, isn't it? If I choose to revenge myself on those that have used me badly, people that I hate, by telling you where you can find what everybody wants, money, money--I suppose you want that--isn't that good enough? BRANDER. Better come with us, then, and show us this treasure-trove. RADA (_shrinking back_). No, no, I dare not. All those dead out there would terrify me, terrify me! TARRASCH. A pack of lies! What were you up to, eh? Telephoning to the English? BRANDER. It has been too much for her nerves. Don't worry her, or she'll go mad. Then there'll be nobody left to get us our supper. (_TARRASCH wanders round the room, opening drawers and examining letters and other contents at the desk._) NANKO.