'I'll tell you what I think,' he said. 'Anyone who knows Alec as well as I do must be convinced that he did nothing from motives that were mean and paltry. To accuse him of cowardice is absurd--he's the bravest man I've ever known--and it's equally absurd to accuse him of weakness. But what I do think is this: Alec is not the man to stick at half measures, and he's taken desperately to heart the maxim which says that he who desires an end desires the means also. I think he might be very ruthless, and on occasion he might be stern to the verge of brutality. Reading between the lines of those letters that Macinnery sent to the _Daily Mail_, I have wondered if Alec, finding that someone must be sacrificed, didn't deliberately choose George Allerton because he was the least useful to him and could be best spared. Even in small undertakings like that there must be some men who are only food for powder. If Alec had found George worthless to him, no consideration for Lucy would have prevented him from sacrificing him.' 'If that were so why didn't he say it outright?' 'Do you think it would have made things any better? The British public is sentimental; they will not understand that in warfare it is necessary sometimes to be inhuman. And how would it have served him with Lucy if he had confessed that he had used George callously as a pawn in his game that must be sacrificed to win some greater advantage?' 'It's all very horrible,' shuddered Julia. 'And so far as the public goes, events have shown that he was right to keep silence. The agitation against him died down for want of matter, and though he is vaguely discredited, nothing is proved definitely against him. Public opinion is very fickle, and already people are beginning to forget, and as they forget they will think they have misjudged him. When it is announced that he has given his services to the King of the Belgians, ten to one there will be a reaction in his favour.' They got up from luncheon, and coffee was served to them. They lit their cigarettes. For some time they were silent. 'Lucy wants to see him before he goes,' said Julia suddenly. Dick looked at her and gave an impatient shrug of the shoulders. 'I suppose she wants to indulge a truly feminine passion for making scenes. She's made Alec quite wretched enough already.' 'Don't be unkind to her, Dick,' said Julia, tears welling up in her bright eyes. 'You don't know how desperately unhappy she is. My heart bled to see her this morning.' 'Darling, I'll do whatever you want me to,' he said, leaning over her. Julia's sense of the ridiculous was always next door to her sense of the pathetic. 'I don't know why you should kiss me because Lucy's utterly miserable,' she said, with a little laugh. And then, gravely, as she nestled in his encircling arm: 'Will you try and manage it? She hesitates to write to him.'