"I try to hope," said Piers, in a low, unsteady voice, his eyes falling timidly before her glance. "But what you said is so true--one can't create the spirit of religion. If one hasn't it----" He broke off, and added with a smile, "I think I have a certain amount of enthusiasm. But when one has seen a good deal of the world, it's so very easy to feel discouraged. Think how much sheer barbarism there is around us, from the brutal savage of the gutter to the cunning savage of the Stock Exchange!" Irene had a gleam in her eyes; she nodded appreciation. "If," he went on vigorously, "if one could make the multitude really understand--understand to the point of action--how enormously its interest is peace!" "More hope that way, I'm afraid," said Irene, "than through idealisms." "Yes, yes. If it comes at all, it'll be by the way of self-interest. And really it looks as if the military tyrants might overreach themselves here and there. Italy, for instance. Think of Italy, crushed and cursed by a blood-tax that the people themselves see to be futile. One enters into the spirit of the men who freed Italy from foreigners--it was glorious; but how much more glorious to excite a rebellion there against her own rulers! Shouldn't you enjoy doing that?" At times, there is no subtler compliment to a woman than to address her as if she were a man. It must be done involuntarily, as was the case with this utterance of Otway's. Irene rewarded him with a look such as he had never had from her, the look of rejoicing comradeship. "Indeed I should! Italy is becoming a misery to those who love her. Is no plot going on? Couldn't one start a conspiracy against that infamous misgovernment?" "There's an arch-plotter at work. His name is Hunger. Let us be glad that Italy can't enrich herself by manufactures. Who knows? The revolution against militarism may begin there, as that against feudalism did in France. Talk of enthusiasm! How should we feel if we read in the paper some morning that the Italian people had formed into an army of peace--refusing to pay another centesimo for warfare? "The next boat for Calais! The next train for Rome!" Their eyes met, interchanging gleams of laughter. "Oh, but the crowd, the crowd!" sighed Piers. "What is bad enough to say of it? who shall draw its picture with long enough ears?" "It has another aspect, you know." "It has. At its best, a smiling simpleton; at its worst, a murderous maniac." "You are not exactly a socialist," remarked Irene, with that smile which, linking past and present, blended in Otway's heart old love and new--her smile of friendly irony. "Socialism? I seldom think of it; which means, that I have no faith in it.--When we came in, you were playing." "I miss the connection," said Irene, with a puzzled air. "Forgive me. I am fond of music, and it has been in my mind all the time--the hope that you would play again."