"You have to fear, Marquis," Selingman replied ponderously, "the
inevitable laws which direct the progress of nations. Treaties solemnly
subscribed to in one generation become worthless as time passes and
conditions change."

"But I do not understand you there!" the other man exclaimed. "What you
say sounds to me like a reflection upon the honour of your country. Do
you mean to insinuate that she would possibly--that she would ever for a
moment contemplate breaking her pledged and sealed word?"

"My friend," Selingman pronounced drily, "the path of honour and glory,
the onward progress of a mighty, struggling nation, carrying in its hand
culture and civilisation, might demand even such a sacrifice. Germany
recognises, is profoundly imbued with the splendour of her own ideals,
the matchlessness of her own culture. She feels justified in spreading
herself out wherever she can find an outlet--at any cost, mind, because
the end must be good."

There was a moment's silence. Then the tall man stood upright.

"If you came out to find me, my friend Selingman, to bring me this
warning, I suppose I should consider myself your debtor. As a matter of
fact, I do not. You have inspired me with nameless misgivings. Your voice
sounds in my ears like the voice of an ugly fate. I am, as you have often
reminded me, half German, and I have shown my friendship for Germany many
times. Unlike most of the aristocracy of my country, I look more often
northwards than towards the south. But I tell you frankly that there are
limits to my Germanism. I will play no more golf. I will walk with you to
the club-house."