rather an expensive game. Only the wealthier boys play--and I'm
sorry to say that it is not of our wealthier boys that we are
always the proudest. But the point is that no public school can
be called first-class until it has one. They are building them
right and left."

"And now you must finish the chapel?"

"Now we must complete the chapel." He paused reverently, and
said, "And here is a fragment of the original building."
Rickie at once had a rush of sympathy. He, too, looked with
reverence at the morsel of Jacobean brickwork, ruddy and
beautiful amidst the machine-squared stones of the modern apse.
The two men, who had so little in common, were thrilled with
patriotism. They rejoiced that their country was great, noble,
and old.

"Thank God I'm English," said Rickie suddenly.

"Thank Him indeed," said Mr. Pembroke, laying a hand on his back.

"We've been nearly as great as the Greeks, I do believe. Greater,
I'm sure, than the Italians, though they did get closer to
beauty. Greater than the French, though we do take all their
ideas. I can't help thinking that England is immense. English
literature certainly."

Mr. Pembroke removed his hand. He found such patriotism somewhat
craven. Genuine patriotism comes only from the heart. It knows no
parleying with reason. English ladies will declare abroad that