"Tell me what on earth you mean?" he demanded. "We always win in the long run, even if we muddle things about a little."
"I was just contrasting in my mind," she said thoughtfully, "some of the Germans whom I have met since the war, with some of the Englishmen. They are taking it very seriously, you know, Mr. Lutchester. They don't find time for luncheon parties or sight-seeing."
"That's just their way," he protested. "They turn themselves into machines. They are what we used to call suckers at school, but you can take my word for it that before next autumn they will be on the run."
"You call them suckers," she observed. "That's because they're always working, always studying, always experimenting. Supposing they got hold of something like this new explosive?"
"First of all," he told her, "I don't believe in it, and secondly, if it exists, the formula isn't in their hands."
"Supposing it is in mine?" she suggested. "I might sell it to them."
"I'd trust you all the time," he laughed lightheartedly. "I can't see you giving a leg up to the Huns…. Will you lunch with me at one o'clock to-morrow, please?"
"Certainly not," she replied. "You must attend to your work, whatever it is."
"That's all very well," he grumbled, "but every one has an hour off for luncheon."
"People who win wars don't lunch," she declared severely. "Here's
Jimmy—I can hear his voice—and he's brought some one up with him.
I'll—let you know about lunch."