His implicit appeal to the whole literature of Teutonic romanticism disarmed Mrs. Britling’s objection that he had no business whatever to know the young woman at all.

“Also,” cried Herr Heinrich, facing another aspect of his distresses, “how am I to pack my things?  Since I have been here I have bought many things, many books, and two pairs of white flannel trousers and some shirts and a tin instrument that I cannot work, for developing privately Kodak films.  All this must go into my little portmanteau.  And it will not go into my little portmanteau!

“And there is Billy!  Who will now go on with the education of Billy?”

The hands of fate paused not for Herr Heinrich’s embarrassments and distresses.  He fretted from his room downstairs and back to his room, he went out upon mysterious and futile errands towards the village inn, he prowled about the garden.  His head and face grew pinker and pinker; his eyes were flushed and distressed.  Everybody sought to say and do kind and reassuring things to him.

“Ach!” he said to Teddy; “you are a civilian.  You live in a free country.  It is not your war.  You can be amused at it....”

But then Teddy was amused at everything.

Something but very dimly apprehended at Matching’s Easy, something methodical and compelling away in London, seemed to be fumbling and feeling after Herr Heinrich, and Herr Heinrich it appeared was responding.  Sunday’s post brought the decision.

“I have to go,” he said.  “I must go right up to London to-day.  To an address in Bloomsbury.  Then they will tell me how to go to Germany.  I must pack and I must get the taxi-cab from the junction and I must go.  Why are there no trains on the branch line on Sundays for me to go by it?”

At lunch he talked politics.  “I am entirely opposed to the war,” he said.  “I am entirely opposed to any war.”

“Then why go?” asked Mr. Britling.  “Stay here with us.  We all like you.  Stay here and do not answer your mobilisation summons.”

“But then I shall lose all my country.  I shall lose my papers.  I shall be outcast.  I must go.”

“I suppose a man should go with his own country,” Mr. Britling reflected.

“If there was only one language in all the world, none of such things would happen,” Herr Heinrich declared.  “There would be no English, no Germans, no Russians.”

“Just Esperantists,” said Teddy.

“Or Idoists,” said Herr Heinrich.  “I am not convinced of which.  In some ways Ido is much better.”

“Perhaps there would have to be a war between Ido and Esperanto to settle it,” said Teddy.

“Who shall we play skat with when you have gone?” asked Mrs. Britling.

“All this morning,” said Herr Heinrich, expanding in the warmth of sympathy, “I have been trying to pack and I have been unable to pack.  My mind is too greatly disordered.  I have been told not to bring much luggage.  Mrs. Britling, please.”