I see plainly that--if I go on with this--I shall become your secretary--your agent in fact--for a great many things besides Greek.' Then she made an impetuous step forward.
'Mr.Mannering!--the atmosphere of this house chokes me!' The Squire dropped back into his chair, watching her with eyes in which he tried--not very successfully--to keep dignity alive.
'Your reasons ?' 'I am with the _country_!' she said, not without signs of agitation; 'and you seem to me to care nothing about the country!' Disputation was never unwelcome to the Squire.

He riposted.
'Of course, we mean entirely different things by the word.' She threw back her head slightly, with a gesture of scorn.
'We might argue that, if it were peace-time.

But this is _war_! Your country--my country--has the German grip at her throat.

A few months--and we are saved--or broken!--the country that gave us birth--all we have--all we are!' Her words came short and thick, and she had turned very white.

'And in this house there is never, in your presence, a word of the war!--of the men who are dying by land and sea--_dying_, that you and I may sit here in peace--that you may talk to me about Greek poetry, and put spokes in the wheels of those who are trying to feed us--and defend us--and beat off Germany.
Nothing for the wounded!--nothing for the hospitals! And you won't let Pamela do anything! Not a farthing for the Red Cross! You made me write a letter last week refusing a subscription.