of the British situation.  It kept the navy sedulous and Colonel Rendezvous uneasy; it stimulated a small and not very influential section of the press to a series of reminders that bored Mr. Britling acutely, it was the excuse for an agitation that made national service ridiculous, and quite subconsciously it affected his attitude to a hundred things.  For example, it was a factor in his very keen indignation at the Tory levity in Ireland, in his disgust with many things that irritated or estranged Indian feeling.  It bored him; there it was, a danger, and there was no denying it, and yet he believed firmly that it was a mine that would never be fired, an avalanche that would never fall.  It was a nuisance, a stupidity, that kept Europe drilling and wasted enormous sums on unavoidable preparations; it hung up everything like a noisy argument in a drawing-room, but that human weakness and folly would ever let the mine actually explode he did not believe.  He had been in France in 1911, he had seen how close things had come then to a conflict, and the fact that they had not come to a conflict had enormously strengthened his natural disposition to believe that at bottom Germany was sane and her militarism a bluff.

But the Irish difficulty was a different thing.  There, he felt, was need for the liveliest exertions.  A few obstinate people in influential positions were manifestly pushing things to an outrageous point....

He wrote through the morning—­and as the morning progressed the judicial calm of his opening intentions warmed to a certain regrettable vigour of phrasing about our politicians, about our political ladies, and our hand-to-mouth press....

He came down to lunch in a frayed, exhausted condition, and was much afflicted by a series of questions from Herr Heinrich.  For it was an incurable characteristic of Herr Heinrich that he asked questions; the greater part of his conversation took the form of question and answer, and his thirst for information was as marked as his belief that German should not simply be spoken but spoken “out loud.”  He invariably prefaced his inquiries with the word “Please,” and he insisted upon ascribing an omniscience to his employer that it was extremely irksome to justify after a strenuous morning of enthusiastic literary effort.  He now took the opportunity of a lull in the solicitudes and congratulations that had followed Mr. Direck’s appearance—­and Mr. Direck was so little shattered by his misadventure that with the assistance of the kindly Teddy he had got up and dressed and come down to lunch—­to put the matter that had been occupying his mind all the morning, even to the detriment of the lessons of the Masters Britling.

“Please!” he said, going a deeper shade of pink and partly turning to Mr. Britling.

A look of resignation came into Mr. Britling’s eyes.  “Yes?” he said.

“I do not think it will be wise to take my ticket for the Esperanto Conference at Boulogne.  Because I think it is probable to be war between Austria and Servia, and that Russia may make war on Austria.”