xtraordinarily well. The Rector said he
would ask him to St. John's one morning...."

Peter Graham's parish ran down to the river, and included slums in which
some of the ladies of St. John's (whose congregation had seen to it that
in their immediate neighbourhood there were no such things) were
interested. So the two had met. She had found him admirable and likeable;
he found her highly respectable and seemingly unapproachable. From which
cold elements much more may come than one might suppose.

At any rate, now, Mrs. Lessing said nothing when Hilda went to post a
letter in London on Sunday morning before breakfast. She would have
mildly remonstrated if the girl had gone to meet the young man. The which
was England once, and may, despite the Kaiser, be England yet once more.

"I was nearly going," she declared. "You're a bit late."

"I know," he replied; "I couldn't help it. The early service took longer
than usual. But I'm glad to see you before breakfast. Tell me, what does
your father think of it all?"

The girl gave a little shrug of the shoulders, "Oh, he says war is
impossible. The credit system makes it impossible. But if he really
thinks so, I don't see why he should say it so often and so violently.
Oh, Peter, what do you think?"

The young man unconsciously quickened his pace. "I think it is certain,"
he said. "We must come in. I should say, more likely, the credit system
makes it impossible for us to keep out. I mean, half Europe can't go to
war and we sit still. Not in these days. And if it comes--Good Lord,
Hilda, do you know what it means? I can't see the end, only it looks to
me like being a fearful smash.... Oh, we shall pull through, but nobody
seems to see that our ordinary life will come down like a pack of cards.
And what will the poor do? And can't you see the masses of poor souls
that will be thrown into the vortex like, like...." He broke off. "I
can't find words," he said, gesticulating nervously. "It's colossal."

"Peter, you're going to preach about it: I can see you are. But do take
care what you say. I should hate father to be upset. He's so--oh, I don't
know!--_British_, I think. He hates to be thrown out, you know, and he
won't think all that possible."

She glanced up (the least little bit that she had to) anxiously. Graham
smiled. "I know Mr. Lessing," he said. "But, Hilda, he's _got_ to be
moved. Why, he may be in khaki yet!"

"Oh, Peter, don't be silly. Why, father's fifty, an