Piers' eyes fenced with his, albeit a faint smile hovered about the corners of his mouth. "I really am not such a humbug as you are pleased to imagine," he said, after a moment with an oddly boyish touch of pride. "I'm feeling lighthearted, and that's a fact."
"Then you are about the only man in England today who is," responded Crowther.
"That may be," carelessly Piers made answer. "Nearly everyone is more or less scared. I'm not. It's going to be a mighty struggle—a Titanic struggle—but we shall come out on top."
"At a frightful cost," Crowther said.
Piers leapt to his feet. "We shan't shirk it on that account. See here,
Crowther! I'll tell you something—if you'll swear to keep it dark!"
Crowther looked up at the eager, glowing face and a very tender look came into his own. "Well, Piers?" he said.
Piers caught him suddenly by the shoulders. "Crowther, Crowther, old chap, congratulate me! I took—the King's shilling—to-day!"
"Ah!" Crowther said.
He gripped Piers' arms tightly, feeling the vitality of him pulse in every sinew, every tense nerve. And before his mental sight there rose the dread vision of war—the insatiable—striding like a devouring monster over a whole continent. With awful clearness he saw the fields of slain…
His eyes came back to Piers, splendid in the fire of his youth, flushed already with the grim joy of the coming conflict. He got up slowly, still looking into the handsome, olive face with its patrician features and arrogant self-confidence. And a cold hand seemed to close upon his heart.