She had hardly changed, except for a few streaks of grey in her brown hair. Her low, broad forehead was as smooth as before, her brown eyes shown with their old steady light. She had not lost her sense of humour, though she had seen a good deal of blood and agony and death. “How’s humanity?” I asked, and she laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “What can one do with it? I thought we were going to catch the old devil by the tail and hold him fast, but he’s broken loose again. This Peace! Dear God!... And all the cruelty and hatred that have survived the massacre! But I don’t despair, even now. In this room there is enough good-will and human kindness to create a new world. We’re going to have a good try to make things better by-and-by.” “Who’s your star to-night?” I asked. “Who is the particular Hot-Gospeller with a mission to convert mankind?” “I’ve several,” said Susy. She glanced round the room, and her eyes rested on a little man with goggles and a goatee beard--none other than my good friend Dr. Small, with whom I had travelled down many roads. I had no notion that he knew Susy or was to be here to-night. “There’s one great soul--a little American doctor whose heart is as big as humanity itself, and whose head is filled with the wisdom of the wise.” “I know him,” I said. “And I agree with you.” He caught our eyes fixed on him, and blinked through his goggles, and then waved his hand, and made his way to us. “Hulloa, doc,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me you know Susy Whincop?” “No need,” he answered. “Miss Whincop is the golden link between all men of good-will.” Susy was pleased with that. She patted the little doctor’s hand and said, “Bully for you, Doctor--and may the Stars and Stripes wave over the League of Nations!” Then she was assailed by other guests, and the Doctor and I took refuge in a corner. “How’s everything?” I asked. The doctor was profoundly dejected, and did not hide the gloom that possessed his soul. “Sonny,” he answered, “we shall have to fight with our backs to the wall, because the enemy--the old Devil--is prevailing against us. I have just come over from Paris, and I don’t mind telling you that what I saw during the Peace Conference has made me doubt the power of goodness over evil.” “Tell me,” I said. Daddy Small’s story was not pleasant to hear. It was the story of the betrayal, one by one, of every ideal for which simple men had fought and died, a story of broken pledges, of hero-worship dethroned, and of great peoples condemned to lingering death. The Peace Treaty, he said, would break the heart of the world and prepare the way for new, more dreadful, warfare. “How about Wilson?” I asked. The little doctor raised his hands like a German crying, “_Kamerad!_”