Cross passed, and others bared their heads and something

hushed the pagan riot a moment.

At the windows in Pall Mall men in evening clothes who had been officers in the world-war, sat by the pretty women who had driven through the crowds, looking out on the noisy pageant of the street. A piano-organ was playing, and two young soldiers danced with ridiculous grace, imitating the elegance and languorous ecstasy of society dancers. One of them wore a woman's hat and skirt and was wonderfully comic.

I stood watching them, a little stupefied by all the noise and tumult of this "Peace" night, and with a sense of tragic irony, remembering millions of boys who lay dead in quiet fields and the agony of many peoples in Europe. It was then that I saw young Harding. He was sitting in his club window just above the dancing soldiers, and looking out with a grave and rather woe-*begone face, remarkable in contrast with the laughing faces of fellow-clubmen and their women. I recognised him after a moment's query in my mind, and said, "Hulloa, Harding!"

He stared at me and I saw the sudden dawning of remembrance.

"Come in," he answered. "I had no idea you were back again!"

So I went into his club and sat by his side at the open window, glad of this retreat from the pressure and tumult of the mob below.

He talked conventionally for a little while, and asked me whether I had had "a good time" in the States, and whether I was busy, and why the Americans seemed so hostile to President Wilson. I understood from him that he approved of the Peace Treaty and was glad that Germany and Austria had been "wiped off the map" as far as it was humanly possible.