* * * * *

Clear eyes, that lifted up to me
Free heart and soul of vanity;
Blue eyes, that speak so wistfully—­
Nothing but these I know, alas!”

She laughed her acknowledgment, and lying there, face to the sky, began to sing to herself, under her breath, fragments of that ancient war-song: 

     “Le bon Roi Dagobert
     Avait un grand sabre de fer;
     Le grand Saint Eloi
     Lui dit:  ’O mon Roi
     Votre Majeste
     Pourrait se blesser!’
     ‘C’est vrai,’ lui dit le Roi,
     ‘Qu’on me donne un sabre de bois!’”

“In that verse,” observed Selwyn, smiling, “lies the true key to the millennium—­international disarmament and moral suasion.”

“Nonsense,” she said lazily; “the millennium will arrive when the false balance between man and woman is properly adjusted—­not before.  And that means universal education. . . .  Did you ever hear that old, old song, written two centuries ago—­the ‘Education of Phyllis’?  No?  Listen then and be ashamed.”

And lying there, the back of one hand above her eyes, she sang in a sweet, childish, mocking voice, tremulous with hidden laughter, the song of Phyllis the shepherdess and Sylvandre the shepherd—­how Phyllis, more avaricious than sentimental, made Sylvandre pay her thirty sheep for one kiss; how, next day, the price shifted to one sheep for thirty kisses; and then the dreadful demoralisation of Phyllis: 

“Le lendemain, Philis, plus tendre
Fut trop heureuse de lui rendre
Trente moutons pour un baiser!

* * * * *

Le lendemain, Philis, peu sage,
Aurait donne moutons et chien
Pour un baiser que le volage
A Lisette donnait pour rien!”

“And there we are,” said Eileen, sitting up abruptly and levelling the pink-tipped finger of accusation at him—­“there, if you please, lies the woe of the world—­not in the armaments of nations!  That old French poet understood in half a second more than your Hague tribunal could comprehend in its first Cathayan cycle!  There lies the hope of your millennium—­in the higher education of the modern Phyllis.”

“And the up-to-date Sylvandre,” added Selwyn.

“He knows too much already,” she retorted, delicate nose in the air. . . .  “Hark!  Ear to the ground!  My atavistic and wilder instincts warn me that somebody is coming!”

“Boots and Drina,” said Selwyn; and he hailed them as they came into view above.  Then he sprang to his feet, calling out:  “And Gerald, too!  Hello, old fellow!  This is perfectly fine!  When did you arrive?”

“Oh, Gerald!” cried Eileen, both hands outstretched—­“it’s splendid of you to come!  Dear fellow! have you seen Nina and Austin?  And were they not delighted?  And you’ve come to stay, haven’t you?  There, I won’t begin to urge you. . . .  Look, Gerald—­look, Boots—­and Drina, too—­only look at those beautiful big plump trout in Captain Selwyn’s creel!”