Helen could not help remembering that only just now Aline had said that on that night nobody dreamed of trouble. There was clearly some little confusion somewhere, though not probably Kuhlmann’s, and she had not the smallest desire to investigate it. People get muddled over dates—she always did herself—and she attempted to slide off the topic. Little as she wanted to talk about the war at all, she thought she would make some violently anti-German remark, such as Aline would appreciate, in order to put the muddle away.
“It’s odd how little Germans can appreciate the psychology of honourable and civilized people,” she said. “The Ambassador, for instance, as I said, thought we were going to see a treaty torn up and not stir a finger.”
Now Aline was quite capable in the pursuit of her Englishness of making that identical remark herself, but when she heard it made by an Englishwoman she revolted against it.
“But it was life and death to Germany,” she said. “She had to invade Belgium! Her promise couldn’t be held to bind her. And they say that France really invaded Belgium first.”
The two were now thoroughly at cross-purposes. Helen Grote, in her private reflections that morning, had been equally loose in her conception of a promise, seeing therein only a temporary obligation to suit certain circumstances. But now when she heard that doctrine stated she saw its abominable falsity. Even though the outcome of that for her intimately was that Robin must soon go out to uphold the sacredness of a promise, she repudiated with scorning her own conclusion of the morning. She got up.
“My dear Aline,” she said, “that is the sort of thing one is tempted to think, and is ashamed of having thought. Why the whole English case, which you and I feel in our bones, is based on the negative of that. As for people saying that France invaded Belgium first, that is what Berlin says to Potsdam, and Potsdam to Berlin. And how unspeakable those accounts of German atrocities in Belgium are. But don’t let us talk about it: I so longed in London to get away from it all. May we have a stroll round your delicious garden? How well I remember it.”
In spite of Helen Grote’s expressed desire to get away from the thought of the war, Aline could not let that remark about German atrocities pass unchallenged. Once again, as on the Sunday at Cambridge with Robin, she spoke before she knew she had spoken.
“Oh, those infamous lies,” she said. “The Germans are incapable of such brutality. It is wicked of the English papers to publish such things.”
“Anyhow, do not let us think about them,” said Helen. “Surely we can forget it all for a little in this home of peace. The rose-garden: do let me see your new rose-garden.”
The rose-garden served its purpose for a while, but as they came back, in the gathering dusk across the lawn, once again the topic intruded itself.