“Geoffrey is a patriot,” exclaimed Ella, laughing. “So am I. I don’t believe Russia and France will ever dare to land soldiers on our coasts.”
“Well spoken,” I exclaimed. “I do not share the fears of these so-called experts.”
“I do,” Beck went on excitedly. “If hostilities occur our defences will soon be found weak and utterly unreliable. That’s my opinion.”
“Then you declare that England is great no longer,” I observed, with a smile.
“No, I don’t go so far as that; but I contend, as I did in my speech in the House a fortnight ago, that those charged with maintaining our defences in a proper state of efficiency have for years been culpably negligent. The power of England to-day is still the same as it has been—on paper. But, in ascertaining it, we always close our eyes wilfully to the true fact that other nations have awakened during the past ten years, and have now actually overtaken us.”
“I don’t think that,” I answered. “Until our country is actually invested I shall still believe in its strength.”
But Beck, greatly to the amusement of Ella, was firm in his opinions, and, when I argued with him, commenced to quote statistics with a glibness which told how carefully he had studied the speech he recently delivered before the House, a speech which, by the way, had been dismissed in one line by all the newspapers. Ella, standing beside me in her pale cream dress, girdled narrow with a band of mauve silk, looked charming, and supported me in all my views, exhibiting a knowledge of politics and of the Continental outlook that I had not in the least suspected. Indeed, she now and then attacked the arguments of the member for West Rutlandshire with a vehemence that surprised me, for more than once she completely upset his declarations by citing some fact he had overlooked.
Even while we discussed these things we knew how wildly-excited must be the seething world of London. The news, although, alas! not fresh to me, had fallen that night upon the metropolis like a thunderbolt. Mrs Laing, who presently entered the room, was shown the paper by Ella, and was utterly unnerved by the startling intelligence. I had noticed that she had never since been the same stately, composed woman as before the discovery of Dudley. The tragic affair at “The Nook” seemed to have upset her, and in her face there were now traces of extreme nervousness and excitability.
“Surely the paper has printed an unwarrantable untruth, Mr Beck,” she exclaimed, after reading the statement by the aid of her glasses. “I really can’t believe it.”
“I scarcely think we ought to credit it before we receive some confirmation,” the burly legislator replied. “It may, of course, be a mere idle rumour set afloat for Stock Exchange purposes.”