A few moments elapsed, and
then the little old man glanced round, and, assuming surprise that
he had not noticed G.J. earlier, nodded to him with a very bright and
benevolent smile.
G.J. said:
"Well, Sir Francis, what's your opinion of this Ypres business. Seems
pretty complicated, doesn't it?"
Sir Francis answered in a tone whose mild and bland benevolence
matched his smile:
"I dare say the complications escape me. I see the affair quite
simply. We are holding on, but we cannot continue to hold on. The
Germans have more men, far more guns, and infinitely more ammunition.
They certainly have not less genius for war. What can be the result?
I am told by respectable people that the Germans lost the war at the
Marne. I don't appreciate it. I am told that the Germans don't realise
the Marne. I think they realise the Marne at least as well as we
realise Tannenberg."
The slightly trembling, slightly mincing voice of Sir Francis denoted
such detachment, such politeness, such kindliness, that the opinion it
emitted seemed to impose itself on G.J. with extraordinary authority.
There was a brief pause, and Sir Francis ejaculated:
"What's your view, Bob?"
The other old man now consisted of a newspaper, two seamy hands and
a pair of grey legs.
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