you, and keeping poor people in prison, and telling us to go on hating; and all those dreadful cold-blooded creatures who write in the papers--the same in my country, just the same; it is because of all them that I think we are only animals." He got up, acutely miserable. He could see her following him with her eyes, and knew she was afraid she had driven him away. She said coaxingly: "Don't mind me talking, ni-ice boy. I don't know any one to talk to. If you don't like it, I can be quiet as a mouse." He muttered: "Oh! go on, talk away. I'm not obliged to believe you, and I don't." She was on her feet now, leaning against the wall; her dark dress and white face just touched by the slanting moonlight; and her voice came again, slow and soft and bitter: "Well, look here, ni-ice boy, what sort of a world is it, where millions are being tortured--horribly tortured, for no fault of theirs, at all? A beautiful world, isn't it! 'Umbug! Silly rot, as you boys call it. You say it is all 'Comrade'! and braveness out there at the front, and people don't think of themselves. Well, I don't think of myself veree much. What does it matter--I am lost now, anyway; but I think of my people at home, how they suffer and grieve. I think of all the poor people there and here who lose those they love, and all the poor prisoners. Am I not to think of them? And if I do, how am I to believe it a beautiful world, ni-ice boy?" He stood very still, biting his lips. "Look here! We haf one life each, and soon it is over. Well, I think that is lucky." He said resentfully: "No! there's more than that." "Ah!" she went on softly; "you think the war is fought for the future; you are giving your lives for a better world, aren't you?" "We must fight till we win," he said between his teeth. "Till you win. My people think that, too. All the peoples think that if they win the world will be better. But it will not, you know, it will be much worse, anyway." He turned away from her and caught up his cap; but her voice followed him. "I don't care which win, I despise them all--animals--animals--animals! Ah! Don't go, ni-ice boy--I will be quiet now." He took some notes from his tunic pocket, put them on the table, and went up to her. "Good-night." She said plaintively: "Are you really going? Don't you like me, enough?" "Yes, I like you." "It is because I am German, then?" "No." "Then why won't you stay?" He wanted to answer: "Because you upset me so"; but he just shrugged his shoulders. "Won't you kees me once?" He bent, and put his lips to her forehead; but as he took them away she threw her head back, pressed her mouth to his, and clung to him. He sat down suddenly and said: "Don't! I don't want to feel a brute." She laughed. "You are a funny boy, but you are veree good. Talk to me a little, then. No one talks to me. I would much rather talk, anyway. Tell me, haf you seen many German prisoners?" He sighed--from relief, or was it from regret? "A good many."