"Oh!" said he after a pause, wheeling about. "Still harpin' on they
Germans? Well, Mr Hambly, sir, I don't know how it strikes you, but
I'm sick an' tired of them dismal blackguards."
"I can't bear it," said Mrs Steele, walking to and fro in her drawing-room. She ceased wringing her handkerchief, and came to a halt confronting the Vicar, who stood moodily leaning an arm on the mantelshelf.
"I believe," he answered after a pause, "you would find it worse to bear in a month or so if I hadn't offered."
"Why didn't you consult me?"
"I wrote to the Bishop—"
"The 'Bishop!' Well . . . what did he advise?"
"Oh, of course he temporised. . . . Yes, I know what you are going to say. My consulting him was a momentary throw-back of loyalty. The official Churches—Roman Catholic, Greek, Anglican, the so-called Free—are alike out of it in this business. Men in England, France, Russia—Germany and Austria, too—are up against something that really matters."
"What can matter comparable with the saving of a soul?"
"Losing it, sweetheart; or, better still, forgetting it—just seeing your job and sticking it out. It is a long, long way to Tipperary, every Tommy knows; and what (bless him!) he neither knows nor recks about is its being a short cut to Heaven."
"Robert, will you tell me that our Faith is going down in this horrible business?"