"You're very optimistic about the effect upon your own side," Sylvia said. "Have you such faith in humanity as to suppose that this war will cure it more radically than all the wars that have gone before? I doubt it. When I listened to our arguments this afternoon, I began to wonder if either side is fighting for anything but a sterile nominalism. I can't argue any more. It's not your fault, Philip. You lack the creative instinct. I'll fight out this Queenie business by myself without invoking state aid. I am rather ashamed of myself, really. I feel as if I'd been compelled to ask a policeman the way. Perhaps I've got everything out of proportion. Women usually manage to do that, somehow. There must be something very satisfying about personal conflict--bayonet to bayonet, I mean: but even in the trenches I suppose men get taken out and shot for cowardice. Even there you wouldn't escape from the grim abstract heartlessness that hangs like a fog over a generalized humanity--generalized is doubly appropriate in this connection. What a wretched thing man is in the mass and how rare and wonderful in the individual! The mass creates that arch-bureaucrat, God, and the individual seeks the heart of Christ. Good-by, Philip, I'm sorry you look so ill. I'm afraid I've tired you. No, no," she added, seeing that he was bracing himself up to talk about themselves. "This wasn't really the personal intrusion you accuse me of making. We were never very near to one another, and we are more remote than ever now." "But what about your own visa?" he asked. "It's no use to me at present. When I want it, I'll apply in the morning to Mr. Mathers and come for it in the afternoon, most correctly. I promise to attempt no more breaches in the formality of your office. By the way, one favor I would ask: please don't come to the Trianon. You wouldn't understand the argot in my songs, and if you did you wouldn't understand my being able to sing them. Get better." "Yes, I'm taking Sanatogen," Philip said, hopefully. At this moment Miss Johnstone entered with a cup on a small tray, which, just escaping being lassoed by one of her chains, was set down on his desk. "I'm afraid I haven't got it quite so smooth as Miss Henson does," said Miss Johnstone. "Oh, never mind, please. It was so kind of you to remember." "Well, I didn't think you ought to miss it on Miss Henson's day off." Sylvia waved her hand and left him with Miss Johnstone; he seemed to be hesitating between the injury to her feelings if he did not take the lumpy mixture and the harm to his digestion if he did. "Even offices are subject to the clash of temperament on temperament," said Sylvia to herself. "A curious thing really that Philip should be prepared to choke himself over a cup of badly mixed Sanatogen rather than wound that young woman's feelings, and yet that he should be able to refuse me what I asked him to do this afternoon."