“You’ve gone no further than criticism. You didn’t even hint at war.”
“And I’m not going to. Not on this issue.”
Martin Embree drew a long, slow, luxurious breath. “Thank God for that! At least they can’t identify us with the war-howlers in the East.”
Jeremy passed the “us.”
“What’s your view of the Lusitania sinking, Martin?”
“It’s damnable. But it’s war.”
“German war. They’re holding jollifications over it here. There’s to be one to-night at the Deutscher Club.”
“Not a formal thing?” cried the Governor.
“Bausch and Henry Vogt, the florist, are engineering it, I understand. It is n’t exactly a club affair.”
“Ah! That’s not so bad. You’re not going to print anything about it?”