"And then what?" I asked.
"I am afraid I lost my temper. You see, I did not understand his point of view—how could I? Whatever he is, he was born in England, and I am afraid I told him some home truths. I told him he was a disgrace to his country, that he was unworthy to be called an Englishman, and that I should refuse ever to enter his house again."
"Pretty drastic," I remarked.
"Drastic!" replied the old man. "How could I help being drastic? He abused the Army, abused our statesmen, said we had been dragged into the war by a bungling diplomacy, told me we were as guilty as the Germans were, and that we had torn up more scraps of paper than the Germans had. I asked him to prove his words, I challenged him to bring forward a single instance where we had treated any country as the Germans had treated Belgium."
"And he?" I asked.
"He couldn't answer me."
"Well, what was the upshot of it?"
"After a bit I got rather ashamed of myself for having lost my temper; besides, I thought I might have misunderstood him, and I wanted his help in the fund we are raising."
"And did he help you?"
I felt the old man's body quiver as he sat by my side in the carriage.