Mrs. Jeremy put down her work and went over to her husband and knelt by his chair.
"Do you know," she said, taking his hands in hers, "that there isn't a man, woman or child in this village who is idle or neglected or forgotten? That those who wanted to enlist have been encouraged and told how to, and that those who didn't want to have been shown other ways of helping? That it's all been done without any fuss or high-falutin or busy-bodying, and chiefly because of an absurd husband of mine who never talks seriously about anything, but somehow manages to make everybody else willing and good-tempered?"
"Is that a fact?" said Jeremy, rather pleased.
"It is. And this absurd husband didn't understand how much he was helping, and he had an idea that he ought to do something thoroughly uncomfortable, so he ordered a truncheon and gave up golf and made himself quite miserable ... and then put it all on to his wife."
"Well, why didn't you stop me?" said Jeremy helplessly.
"I wasn't going to be a drag on you; if you'd volunteered for a submarine I should have said nothing."
"I should be useless in a submarine," said Jeremy thoughtfully; "I should only fall over the white mice. But I really thought you wanted—— Why then," he cried happily, "I might play golf to-morrow, you think?"
"I wish you would," said Mrs. Jeremy.
Jeremy took up his brassey and addressed an imaginary ball.
"Sir Jeremy Smith playing golf in a crisis," he said. "Subject for historical picture."