of his scruples as you wouldn't talk of a cannibal's god. His grandfather had called him outrageous names. "He called me—he called me—" Here the young man faltered, his voice failed him. He looked as haggard as was possible to a young man in such magnificent health.
"I probably know!" said Spencer Coyle, with a nervous laugh.
Owen Wingrave's clouded eyes, as if they were following the far-off consequences of things, rested for an instant on a distant object. Then they met his companion's, and for another moment sounded them deeply. "It isn't true—no, it isn't. It's not that!"
"I don't suppose it is! But what do you propose instead of it?"
"Instead of what?"
"Instead of the stupid solution of war. If you take that away, you should suggest at least a substitute."
"That's for the people in charge, for governments and cabinets," said Owen Wingrave. "They'll arrive soon enough at a substitute, in the particular case, if they're