er peace in which coffee
could be drunk and cigarettes smoked as if nothing were happening
to Europe.

"England," he said, "will not be drawn in, because her ultimatum will
stop the War. There won't be any Armageddon."

"Oh, won't there!" said Michael. "And I can tell you there won't be much
left of us after it's over."

He had been in Germany and he knew. He carried himself with a sort of
stern haughtiness, as one who knew better than any of them. And yet his
words conveyed no picture to his brain, no definite image of anything
at all.

But in Nicholas's brain images gathered fast, one after another; they
thickened; clear, vivid images with hard outlines. They came slowly but
with order and precision. While the others talked he had been silent and
very grave.

"_Some_ of us'll be left," he said. "But it'll take us all our time."

Anthony looked thoughtfully at Nicholas. A sudden wave of realization
beat up against his consciousness and receded.

"Well," he said, "we shall know at midnight."

* * * * *

An immense restlessness came over them.

At a quarter-past eight Dorothy telephoned from her club in Grafton
street. Frank had had to leave her suddenly. Somebody had sent for him.
And if they wanted to see the sight of their lives they were to come
into town at once. St. James's was packed with people from Whitehall to
Buckingham Palace. It was like nothing on earth, and they mustn't miss
it. She'd wait for them in Grafton Street till a quarter to nine, but
not a minute later.

Nicky got out his big four-seater Morss car. They packed themselves into
it, all six of them somehow, and he drove them into London. They had a
sense of doing something strange and memorable and historic. Dorothy,
picked up at her club, showed nothing but a pleasurable excitement. She
gave no further information about Frank. He had had to go off and see
somebody. What did he think? He thought what he had always thought; only
he wouldn't talk about it.

Dorothy was not inclined to talk about it either. The Morss was caught
in a line blocked at the bottom of Albemarle Street by two streams of
cars, mixed with two streams of foot passengers, that poured steadily
from Piccadilly into St. James's Street.

Michael and Dorothy got out and walked. Nicholas gave up his place to
Anthony and followed with Veronica.

Their restlessness had been a part of the immense restlessness of the
crowd. They were drawn,