"Well, sir. I'm very sorry. Very sorry.... But you know what Braiding
is."

G.J. felt that that was just what he did not know, or at any rate had
not hitherto known. He was hurt by Braiding's conduct. He had always
treated Braiding as a friend. They had daily discussed the progress
of the war. On the previous night Braiding, in all the customary
sedateness of black coat and faintly striped trousers, had behaved
just as usual! It was astounding. G.J. began to incline towards the
views of certain of his friends about the utter incomprehensibility
of the servile classes--views which he had often annoyed them by
traversing. Yes; it was astounding. All this martial imperialism
seething in the depths of Braiding, and G.J. never suspecting the
ferment! Exceedingly difficult to conceive Braiding as a soldier! He
was the Albany valet, and Albany valets were Albany valets and naught
else.

Mrs. Braiding continued:

"It's very inconsiderate to you, sir. That's a point that is
appreciated by both Braiding and I. But let us fervently hope it won't
be for long, sir. The consensus of opinion seems to be we shall be
in Berlin in the spring. And in the meantime, I think"--she smiled an
appeal--"I can manage for you by myself, if you'll be so good as to
let me."

"Oh! It's not that," said G.J. carelessly. "I expect you can manage
all right."