congenitally cautious, and hardened a character already dogged. To
be in danger of being entirely dispersed inclined one to be less
apprehensive of the more partial dispersions involved in levies
and taxation, while the habit of condemning the impudence of the
Germans had led naturally to condemning that of Labor, if not
openly at least in the sanctuary of his soul.

He walked. There was, moreover, time to spare, for Fleur was to
meet him at the Gallery at four o'clock, and it was as yet but
half past two. It was good for him to walk--his liver was a
little constricted and his nerves rather on edge. His wife was
always out when she was in Town, and his daughter WOULD flibberty-
gibbet all over the place like most young women since the War.
Still, he must be thankful that she had been too young to do
anything in that War itself. Not, of course, that he had not
supported the War from its inception, with all his soul, but
between that and supporting it with the bodies of his wife and
daughter, there had been a gap fixed by something old-fashioned
within him which abhorred emotional extravagance. He had, for
instance, strongly objected to Annette, so attractive, and in 1914
only thirty-five, going to her native France, her "chere patrie"
as, under the stimulus of war, she had begun to call it, to nurse
her "braves poilus," forsooth! Ruining her health and her looks!
As if she were really a nurse! He had put a stopper on it. Let her
do needlework for them at home, or knit! She had not gone,
therefore, and had never been quite the same woman since. A bad
tendency of hers to mock at him, not openly, but in continual
little ways, had grown. As for Fleur, the War had resolved the
vexed problem whether or not she should go to school. She was
better away from her mother in her war mood, from the chance of