one nation, for its pride, demanded that another
should hand over its honour, debased and shackled.

'It is infamous,' said Lord Durwent.

'I tell you what,' said a bland youth named Maynard, who was always in
high spirits at breakfast, bored at lunch, 'frightfully bucked' by a
cup of tea at four, and invariably sentimental after dinner; 'it would
do these nasty little Balkans a lot of good to hold 'em all under water
for about three minutes--what?'

'But this is more than a Balkan quarrel,' said Lord Durwent.

'Balkan quarrels always are,' said the youth amiably.

In a chorus of quick questions and answers, in which surmise and
conjecture played ducks and drakes with fact, the party divided into
two camps, the majority taking the stand that it was a local affair and
would lead to nothing; the minority, led by a retired army captain
called Fensome, reading a dark augury for the future. In the midst of
all the chaffing Selwyn noticed, however, that the placidity of decorum
had been dropped, and both men and women were leaning forward in the
unaccustomed stimulus of their brains rallying to meet a new and
powerful situation.

The men did not lose that note of easy banter which seemed the rule
when women were present, but in the faces of the little group who
contended that danger was ahead he could detect the stiffening of the
jaw and the steadying of the eye which come to those who see events
riding towards them with the threat of a prairie fire driven by a wind.

'But, good heavens!' said Selwyn, in answer to some one's prophecy that
war would result, 'surely the big nations can stop it. Germany and you
and America--we three won't let Austria cut Servia's throat in full
daylight.'

The retired army captain turned a monocle on him. 'You have been in
Germany, Mr. Selwyn?'

'Yes, just recently.'

'Did you ever hear them toasting _Der Tag_? My friend, it has
arrived.--Durwent, old boy, if you will excuse me, I think I shall go
to town at noon. If my old bones aren't lying, the thing which a few
of us fossils have been preaching to deaf ears has come to pass, and
there may be a job for a belivered old devil like me yet.'

'But,' cried Lady Durwent, whose easily roused theatrical instinct gave
her the delightful sensation of presiding at a meeting of the Cabinet,
'what have we to do with Austria and Servia?'

'Hear, hear,' said the bland youth. 'Let 'em hop aboard each other if
they like. I think it woul