"And those dreadful submarines," said Gheena, turning to see Stafford, who had come up quietly over the grass.
"Which they threaten to blockade us with in the early spring."
"And—you believe there are bases here—men who help them?" said Gheena.
Mr. Stafford said dreamily that money would do anything.
"You have wanted it badly?" said Gheena.
Basil Stafford shot a swift look at Gheena as he answered that he had once wanted it so badly that he would have sold a limb to get it.
"I suppose," said Gheena, walking on, "that you won't keep to the drains after the winter here. You'll join something."
"You're not thinking of putting a white feather in my mince-pie for dinner, are you?" he said gravely. "There are other ways of helping besides wearing khaki, Miss Gheena, helping on war."
Gheena repeated "Helping on war" with sarcastic emphasis, and told Crabbit not to chase seagulls.
Crabbit leapt forth in swift pursuit of an elusive bird, a stately gull, which sailed off and then bobbed down into the icy sea, floating there gracefully, Crabbit immediately putting his paws into the water, trying to pretend that he had only come down to take the temperature. Then he pounced on something in the line of flotsam, and galloped back to Gheena to lay the offering at her feet.