She rose from the table, flinging back the papers, and went over to the window, staring out into the dusk of the park.
Alban laughed, and drummed on the table with his finger-nails.
“It all comes of having a democratic government, pandering to the working-classes, bribing them with doles, and ruining trade and capital by excessive taxes.”
“Somebody must pay for the war,” said Bertram.
Alban became aware of his presence again, and answered him gloomily.
“Not in that way. The Germans ought to pay.”
It was Bertram’s turn to laugh.
“Even Germany can’t pay for the ruin of the whole world, after her own losses.”
Joyce swung round from the window seat.
“For Heaven’s sake, Bertram! Don’t go pro-German, after being pro-Irish, pro-Bolshevik, and anti-everything that’s English and patriotic!”