“Good God, man! Do you know what you are saying?” he exclaimed.
“Perfectly,” the other replied. “I told you that my errand was a serious one. Shall I proceed?”
The Minister slowly resumed his seat. From behind the electric lamp his face was ghastly white. In that brief pause which followed he seemed to be looking through the walls of the room into an ugly chapter of his future. He saw the headlines in the newspapers, the leading articles, the culmination of all the gossip and mutterings of the last few months, the end of his political career—a disgraceful and ignoble end! Surely no man had ever been placed in so painful a predicament. It was treason to parley. It was disgraceful to send this man away.
“Germany wants peace,” his visitor continued calmly. “She may not have accomplished all she wished to have accomplished by this war, and she is still as strong as ever from a military point of view, but she wants peace. I need say no more than that.”
Lord Romsey shook his head.
“Even if I had the influence, which I haven’t,” he began, “it isn’t a matter of the Government at all. The country would never stand it.”
“Then you had better convert the country,” was the prompt reply. “Look upon it as your duty. Remember this—you are the man in all this world, and not the Kaiser, who is responsible for this war. But for your solemn words pledging your country to neutrality, Germany would never have forced the issue as she has done. Now it is for you to repair the evil. I tell you that we want peace. The first overtures may come ostensibly through Washington, if you will, but they must come in reality from you.”
The Minister leaned back in his chair. His was the calmness of despair.
“You might as well ask me,” he said simply, “to order our Fleet out of the North Sea.”
Mr. Sidney rose to his feet.