Someone began singing “Rule Britannia,” as the nearest expression that occurred to him of the patriotic and anti-disruptive sentiments that filled him, and it was taken up and shouted all over the room. It was as if the insidious influence of Kipling, the National Service League, the Invasion Pictures, the Primrose League, and the Blue Water School, which had been eating with gradual corruption into the sound heart of the Club, was breaking out at last, under the finishing poison of Orangeism, into an eruption which could only be eased by song and shout. So they sang and shouted, some from enthusiasm, some for fun, and Eddy said to his friend the speaker, “You’ve fairly fetched them this time,” and looked smiling over the jubilant crowd, from the front chairs to the back, and, at the back of all, met the eyes of Datcherd. He stood leaning against the door, unjubilant, songless, morose, his hands in his pockets, a cynical smile faintly touching his lips. At his side was Sidney Pollard, with very bright eyes in a white face, and a “There, you see for yourself” air about him. Eddy hadn’t known Datcherd was coming down to the Club to-night, though he knew he had arrived in England, three weeks before he had planned. Seeing him, he rose to his feet and smiled, and the audience, following his eyes, turned round and saw their returned president and master. Upon that they cheered again, louder if possible than before. Datcherd’s acknowledgment was of the faintest. He stood there for a moment longer, then turned and left the room. The meeting ended, after the usual courtesies and votes of thanks, and Eddy took his friend away. “You must come and be introduced to Datcherd,” he said. “I wonder where he’s got to.” His friend looked doubtful. “He could have come and spoken to me in the room if he’d wanted. Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps he’d be tired after his journey. He didn’t look extraordinarily cheery, somehow. I think I’ll not bother him.” “Oh, he’s all right. He only looked like a Home Ruler listening to Orange cheering. I expect they don’t, as a rule, look very radiant, do they?” “They do not. But you don’t mean he’d mind my coming to speak, surely? Because, if he does, I ought never to have come. You told me they had lectures from all sorts of people on all sorts of things.” “So they do. No, of course he wouldn’t mind. But that’s the way he’s bound to look in public, as a manifesto, don’t you see. Like a clergyman listening to a Nonconformist preacher. He has to assert his principles.” “But a Church clergyman probably wouldn’t get a Nonconformist to preach in his church. They don’t, I believe, as a rule.” Eddy was forced to admit that, unfortunately, they didn’t.