“It’s only fair that Germany should pay for the ruin she made,” said Bertram stolidly. “I was in France during the war. I saw the destruction of her cities and villages and farms and harvest fields. Wiped off the map.”
“We’re ready to help France to reconstruct all that,” said Dorothy, and Bertram winced a little at that “we.” He shrank from this sister of his identifying herself with her husband’s people. “What we cannot do is to pay for pensions and all the other ridiculous charges.”
“Germany is bound to go bankrupt,” said Von Arenburg. “Nothing can prevent that, and when it happens, Europe will be dragged down with us.”
“France wants to push Germany into the mud,” said Dorothy. “Nothing will satisfy her but a march into the Ruhr to seize the industrial cities and strangle Germany’s chance of life.”
“We shall try to escape—by way of Russia,” said Von Arenburg. “It will cause another war within a generation.”
“And then the breakdown of civilisation in Europe,” said Dorothy. “Dear God! I can’t believe that England will allow it. England’s generous, in spite of her cruelty at times.”
“Cruelty?” asked Bertram.
“The blockade,” she said. “It was cruel to starve German babies—after the Armistice—to force the Treaty of Versailles.”
Some one else had said that. It was the girl like Joyce in the dancing hall—the little prostitute— It seemed to be a general belief. Was there any truth in it?
“For her own interests, England must prevent it!” said Von Arenburg. “She needs world-markets for her goods. She must work for the recovery of Europe.”