through which those who lived in the securities of England looked out upon the world.  It was a display in the sphere of thought and print immeasurably remote from the real green turf on which one walked, from the voice and the church-bells of Mr. Dimple that sounded their ample caresses in one’s ears, from the clashing of the stags who were beginning to knock the velvet from their horns in the park, or the clatter of the butcher’s cart and the respectful greeting of the butcher boy down the lane.  It was the spectacle of the world less real even to most imaginations than the world of novels or plays.  People talked of these things always with an underlying feeling that they romanced and intellectualised.

On Thursday, July 23rd, the Austro-Hungarian minister at Belgrade presented his impossible ultimatum to the Serbian government, and demanded a reply within forty-eight hours.  With the wisdom of retrospect we know now clearly enough what that meant.  The Sarajevo crime was to be resuscitated and made an excuse for war.  But nine hundred and ninety-nine Europeans out of a thousand had still no suspicion of what was happening to them.  The ultimatum figured prominently in the morning papers that came to Matching’s Easy on Friday, but it by no means dominated the rest of the news; Sir Edward Carson’s rejection of the government proposals for Ulster was given the pride of place, and almost equally conspicuous with the Serbian news were the Caillaux trial and the storming of the St. Petersburg barricades by Cossacks.  Herr Heinrich’s questions at lunch time received reassuring replies.

On Saturday Sir Edward Carson was still in the central limelight, Russia had intervened and demanded more time for Serbia, and the Daily Chronicle declared the day a critical one for Europe.  Dublin with bayonet charges and bullets thrust Serbia into a corner on Monday.  No shots had yet been fired in the East, and the mischief in Ireland that Germany had counted on was well ahead.  Sir Edward Grey was said to be working hard for peace.

“It’s the cry of wolf,” said Mr. Britling to Herr Heinrich.

“But at last there did come a wolf,” said Herr Heinrich.  “I wish I had not sent my first moneys to that Conference upon Esperanto.  I feel sure it will be put off.”

“See!” said Teddy very cheerfully to Herr Heinrich on Tuesday, and held up the paper, in which “The Bloodshed in Dublin” had squeezed the “War Cloud Lifting” into a quite subordinate position.

“What did we tell you?” said Mrs. Britling.  “Nobody wants a European war.”

But Wednesday’s paper vindicated his fears.  Germany had commanded Russia not to mobilise.

“Of course Russia will mobilise,” said Herr Heinrich.

“Or else forever after hold her peace,” said Teddy.

“And then Germany will mobilise,” said Herr Heinrich, “and all my holiday will vanish.  I shall have to go and mobilise too.  I shall have to fight.  I have my papers.”