And he shook his head. “No, to be too pleased would not be grateful,” he said, “to good old England!” And he spoke with no sarcasm, he really meant what he said.
“It makes me sad to think of all the deaths, whether they are German or English,” went on Anna sadly. “I do not feel the same about the Russians or the French naturally.”
“Ach! How much I agree with you,” he said feelingly. “The poor English! Truly do I pity them. I am quite of your mind, Frau Bauer; though every Russian and most Frenchmen are a good riddance, I do not rejoice to think of any Englishman, however lazy, tiresome, and pigheaded, being killed.”
They both ate steadily for a few minutes, then Manfred Hegner began again. “But very few Englishmen will be killed by our brave fellows. You will have to shed no tears for any one you know in Witanbury, Frau Bauer. The English are not a fighting people. Most of their sailors will be drowned, no doubt, but at that one must not after all repine.”
“Yet the English are sending an army to Belgium,” observed Anna, thoughtfully.
“What makes you think that?” He stopped in the work on which he was engaged, that of cutting a large sausage into slices. “Have you learnt it on good authority, Frau Bauer? Has this news been told you by the young gentleman official from London who is connected with the Government—I mean he who is courting your young lady?”
Anna drew back stiffly. “How they do gossip in this town!” she exclaimed, frowning. “Courting my young lady, indeed! No, Mr. Hegner, it was not Mr. Hayley who told this. Mr. Hayley is one of those who talk a great deal without saying anything.”
“Then on whose authority do you speak?” He spoke with a certain rough directness.
“I know because Major Guthrie started for Belgium on Friday last, at two o’clock. By now he must be there, fighting our folk.”
“Major Guthrie?” He looked puzzled. “Is he a gentleman of the garrison?—surely not?”