lity.'

The ex-officer showed no signs of having heard him, but shook his head
impatiently as one does when annoyed by a fly. 'Supposing,' he
repeated, 'that Germany invades Belgium.'

'In that case,' said Selwyn sternly, 'America will be the first to
protest.'

'To protest?'

'And fight,' said the American, swallowing a desire to hurl a plate at
the monocle.

'You will pardon me,' said Lord Durwent, 'but I do not think we can
expect America to become mixed up in this thing. She has her own
problems of the New World, and it is too much to hope that she is going
to come over here and become embroiled in a European conflict.'

'But, dad,' said Elise Durwent, speaking for the first time, 'if, as
Mr. Selwyn says, it is clear that a wrong is being committed, America
will insist upon acting.'

'Oh, I don't know,' broke in the youth who was always lively at
breakfast, but who was beginning to be bored; 'it's one thing to get
waxy about your own corns, and quite another when they're on some other
blighter's foot--what? I mean, you chaps over there got awfully hot
under the collar when dear old Georgius Rex--Heaven rest his
soul!--tried to jump down your throat with both spurs on and gallop
your little tum-tums out. But the question is, does it hurt in the
same place if old Frankie-Joseph of Austria pinks Thingmabob of Servia
underneath the fifth rib--what, what?'

'Is Britain great enough for such a situation?' asked Selwyn,
repressing a smile. 'Would she accept Belgium's crisis as her own?'

'Oh, that's another thing,' said the young man a little uncomfortably.
'We've signed the bally thing, and of course we'll play the game,
and'----

'As Maynard says,' interrupted the former army man, 'it's a bigger
thing for America than for us. Mind you, I don't say we need America
to help us to make war, but we do need her help if war is to be
averted; and any move of such a nature on her part demands what you
author fellows would call "a high degree of altruism." How's that,
Durwent, for a chap who never reads anything but the _Pink Un_?'

'Oh, well,' said Lady Durwent complacently, 'it's probably all a storm
in a teacup, anyway. Some Austrian diplomat has been jilted for a
Servian, I suppose. Isn't that the way wars always happen?' and she
sighed heavily, recalling to her mind the classic features of H.
Stackton Dunckley.

'That's what I say,' said the bright youth of the morning splendour.
'Why make a horse cr