tilted by the crossing of his knees. Michael's foot, with its
long, arched instep, fascinated Anthony. He seemed to be thinking: "If I
look at it long enough I may forget what Nicky has said."

"I hope you won't mind, Father; but I'm enlisting too."

John's voice was a light, high echo of Nicky's.

With a great effort Anthony roused himself from his contemplation of
Michael's foot.

"I--can't--see--that my minding--or not minding--has anything--to
do--with it."

He brought his words out slowly and with separate efforts, as if they
weighed heavily on his tongue. "We've got to consider what's best for
the country all round, and I doubt if either of you is called upon
to go."

"Some of us have got to go," said Nicky.

"Quite so. But I don't think it ought to be you, Nicky; or John,
either."

"I suppose," said Michael, "you mean it ought to be me."

"I don't mean anything of the sort. One out of four's enough."

"One out of four? Well then--"

"That only leaves me to fight," said Dorothy.

"I wasn't thinking of you, Michael. Or of Dorothy."

They all looked at him where he sat, upright and noble, in his chair,
and most absurdly young.

Dorothy said under her breath: "Oh, you darling Daddy."

"_You_ won't be allowed to go, anyhow," said John to his father. "You
needn't think it."

"Why not?"

"Well--." He hadn't the heart to say: "Because you're too old."

"Nicky's brains will be more use to the country than my old carcass."

Nicky thought: "You're the very last of us that can be spared." But he
couldn't say it. The thing was so obvious. All he said was: "It's out of
the question, your going."

"Old Nicky's out of the question, if you like," said John. "He's going
to be married. He ought to be thinking of his wife and children."

"Of course he ought," said Anthony. "Whoever goes first, it isn't
Nicky."

"You ought to think of Mummy, Daddy ducky; and you ought to think of
_us_," said Dorothy.

"I," said John, "haven't got anybody to think of. I'm not going to be
married, and I haven't any children."

"I haven't got a wife and children yet," said Nicky.

"You've got Veronica. You ought to think of her."

"I am thinking of her. You don't suppose Veronica'd stop me if I wanted
to go? Why, she wouldn't look at me if I didn't want to go."

Suddenly he remembered Michael.

"I mean," he said, "after my _saying_ that I was going."

Their eyes met. Michael's flickered. He knew that Nicky was thin