tied, or, rather, are occupied with our own troubles. Anyhow, Germany
thinks so: that I know for a fact among so much that is only conjecture.
And perhaps she is right. Who knows whether she may not be right, and
that if she forces on war whether we shall range ourselves with our
allies?"

Michael laughed.

"But aren't you piling up a European conflagration rather in a hurry,
Aunt Barbara?" he asked.

"There will be hurry enough for us, for France and Russia and perhaps
England, but not for Germany. She is never in a hurry: she waits till
she is ready."

A servant brought in tea and Lady Barbara waited till he had left the
room again.

"It is as simple as an addition sum," she said, "if you grant the first
step, that Austria is going to make some outrageous demand of
Servia. What follows? Servia refuses that demand, and Austria begins
mobilisation in order to enforce it. Servia appeals to Russia,
invokes the bond of blood, and Russia remonstrates with Austria. Her
representations will be of no use: you may stake all you have on that;
and eventually, since she will be unable to draw back she, too, will
begin in her slow, cumbrous manner, hampered by those immense distances
and her imperfect railway system, to mobilise also. Then will Germany,
already quite prepared, show her hand. She will demand that Russia shall
cease mobilisation, and again will Russia refuse. That will set the
military machinery of France going. All the time the governments of
Europe will be working for peace, all, that is, except one, which is
situated at Berlin."

Michael felt inclined to laugh at this rapid and disastrous sequence of
ominous forebodings; it was so completely characteristic of Aunt Barbara
to take the most violent possible view of the situation, which no doubt
had its dangers. And what Michael felt was felt by the enormous majority
of English people.

"Dear Aunt Barbara, you do get on quick," he said.

"It will happen quickly," she said. "There is that little cloud in the
east like a man's hand today, and rather like that mailed fist which
our sweet peaceful friend in Germany is so fond of talking about. But it
will spread over the sky, I tell you, like some tropical storm. France
is unready, Russia is unready; only Germany and her marionette, Austria,
the strings of which she pulls, is ready."

"Go on prophesying," said Michael.

"I wish I could. Ever since that Sarajevo murder I have thought of
nothing else day an