"There are those who say England is doomed," said Beadon. "Since we left Gordon to his fate the old fighting spirit waxes more and more frail. For heaven's sake don't quote the South African War as a proof to the contrary. Quite half of that wild enthusiasm was a phase of social hysteria. We are all mad on excitement now; we prostitute our very ardour. If we can't get recreation by one means we get it by another. Drink, drugs, lovers--all come under the same category. At times these fail to allay us. We see red then, like other nations, but we have no national outlet like Southerners, with their bull-fights and the like. So war--in countries to which we can be transported with all the latest comforts of civilization--breaks the monotony."
"Aren't you too pessimistic?" said Creagh thoughtfully. "Personally I believe in the hour and the man. We are at a critical point just now, I admit, both individually and as a nation, but I believe that a man will come with the need, as he has always come since the world began."
"Oh, England's merely superficially corrupt," said Hare. "If the right surgeon were to operate she would be cured."
"And which of us is skilful enough to perform the operation? No one in the present Ministry. We've only got two sound men--men whom we trust. Both have had their day."
"England may be corrupt," said Evelyn, "but she's not ignoble. Like a woman, again, she finds herself and loses herself, and then has to find herself once more. Do you remember Borrow's prayer? I found it in some old book as a child, and learnt it by heart; it's wonderful. It seems to apply now. 'If thy doom be at hand, may that doom be a noble one.... May thou sink, if thou dost sink, amidst blood and flame with a mighty noise, causing more than one nation to participate in thy downfall. Of all fates, may it please God to preserve thee from a slow decay, becoming, ere extinct, a scorn and mockery for those self-same foes, who, though they envy and abhor thee, still fear and honour thee even against their will.'"
"In England's extremity oughtn't we to pray that prayer each day?"
"'May more than one nation participate in thy downfall,'" repeated Beadon gravely. "Amen to that."
"Now, do say it all over again, slowly," said Dora Beadon, who had a knack of reducing any serious conversation to a commonplace level. "Have you got a pencil, Lord Meavy? Oh, thanks so much; how good of you!--and some paper? Now again, Evelyn; don't hurry so, there's a dear; I really like it, and I'm so short of quotations for my extract book just now."