"Aren't there lots of people who wouldn't mind going as much as you?" said Mary timidly. "I mean men with no wives or children. Oughtn't they to go first?"
"I suppose they ought. But, you see, you'd never get anywhere like that. A would wait for B who was married but had no child, and B would wait for C who wasn't married but had a mother, and C would wait for D who was an orphan, and so on. That's what Mr. Denham said."
"I see," said Mary miserably.
"I don't quite understand what we're in the world for," said poor John, "or what the world's for at all. But I suppose the great thing is that—that good ideas should live and bad ideas should die ... I haven't done much for good ideas so far, I'm not the sort of person who could ... just one out of thousands of others ... But I could do something for good ideas out there. I could help beat the bad idea of War ... Mr. Denham says if we win there's lots of men, all the best and cleverest in the country, who are pledged to see that there shall be no more war. Well, that's what I call a good idea ... only we've got to win first."
"I know it sounds a wretched thing to say, but what about money?" asked Mary hesitatingly.
"Mother would take you in; there'll be enough to pay her something. We might try and let the house."
And then all the memories of summer evenings and happy Sundays rushed upon Mary and she broke down.
"Our little garden of which we were so proud!" she sobbed.
"The Belgians," said John sadly, "were proud of their little gardens."