“I never saw Daddy so excited,” Nicky said.

But Anthony was not excited.  He had never felt calmer or cooler in his life.

He returned some time after midnight.  By that time it had sunk into him.  Germany had defied the ultimatum and England had declared war on Germany.

He said it was only what was to be foreseen.  He had known all the time that it would happen—­really.

The tension of the day of the ultimatum had this peculiar psychological effect that all over England people who had declared up to the last minute that there would be no War were saying the same thing as Anthony and believing it.

Michael was disgusted with the event that had put an end to the Irish Revolution.  It was in this form that he conceived his first grudge against the War.

This emotion of his was like some empty space of horror opened up between him and Nicholas; Nicky being the only one of his family who was as yet aware of its existence.

For the next three days, Nicholas, very serious and earnest, shut himself up in his workshop at the bottom of the orchard and laboured there, putting the last touches to the final, perfect, authoritative form of the Moving Fortress, the joint creation of his brain and Drayton’s, the only experiment that had survived the repeated onslaughts of the Major’s criticism.  The new model was three times the size of the lost original; it was less like a battleship and more like a racing-car and a destroyer.  It was his and Drayton’s last word on the subject of armaments.

It was going to the War Office, this time, addressed to the right person, and accompanied by all sorts of protective introductions, and Drayton blasting its way before it with his new explosive.

In those three days Nick found an immense distraction in his Moving Fortress.  It also served to blind his family to his real intentions.  He knew that his real intentions could not be kept from them very long.  Meanwhile the idea that he was working on something made them happy.  When Frances saw him in his overalls she smiled and said:  “Nicky’s got his job, anyhow.”  John came and looked at him through the window of the workshop and laughed.

“Good old Nicky,” he said.  “Doing his bit!”

In those three days John went about with an air of agreeable excitement.  Or you came upon him sitting in solitary places like the dining-room, lost in happy thought.  Michael said of him that he was unctuous.  He exuded a secret joy and satisfaction.  John had acquired a sudden remarkable maturity.  He shone on each member of his family with benevolence and affection, as if he were its protector and consoler, and about to confer on it some tremendous benefit.

“Look at Don-Don,” Michael said.  “The bloodthirsty little brute.  He’s positively enjoying the War.”

“You might leave me alone,” said Don-Don.  “I shan’t have it to enjoy for long.”