After which, as this was certainly a conversation stop, there was silence. They walked down St. James’s Street into the Mall, through the Horse Guard’s parade to Parliament Street and so to the courtyard of the House of Commons. The undercurrent of excitement and activity brought about by the strike was noticeable everywhere. Military lorries carrying men and kit moved about. St. George’s barracks was alive with recruits and old soldiers going back. In and out of the Horse Guards ex-officers in mufti came and went. The girls who had served in the W. A. A. C.’s streamed back again to enroll, and through it all, sarcastic emblems of a peace that did not exist, sat the two figures on horseback in their plumes and brass. “London enjoying itself,” said Fallaray ironically. “There is the taste of blood in the mouths of all our people. Fighting has become a habit, almost a hobby.” And young Lochinvar nodded. Would he ever forget the similar scenes that had taken place away back in that August of ’14? “I’m tired,” said Fallaray, with a groan. “I’m dog-tired. If Feo were not at Chilton Park this weekend, I would escape after question time and go down and lie on the earth and sleep.—Well, good by, my dear lad. Don’t be impatient with me. Bring out your numbers of _Reconstruction_, hit hard and truly from the shoulder and see what you can do, you young hot-heads. As for me——!” They stood on the edge of the courtyard with all its indifferent pigeons struggling for a living, oblivious to the intricacies, secrecies and colossal egotisms of the men who passed into the House. But before they separated something happened which made both their hearts beat faster. A tall, primly dressed elderly man, who had apparently been waiting, sprang forward, a glint of great anger in his eyes and two spots of color on his pale cheeks. He said, “Mr. Fallaray, a word with you, Sir.” And Fallaray turned with his usual courtesy and consideration. “What can I do?” he asked. “I’ll tell you what you can do. You can stop showing sympathy for the Irish murderers and assassins. You can stop pussyfooting. You can withdraw all your remarks about reprisals. That’s what you can do. And if you’re interested, I’ll tell you why I say so.” His voice shook and blood seemed to suffuse his pale eyes.