was quiet and restrained, he uttered not one bitter word against Germany, but his measured accents had a sureness, a conviction of the justice of his course, that went home in almost deadly fashion.  He sat in a characteristic pose, his elbows resting on the sides of his chair, his hands folded and placed beneath his chin, the whole body leaning forward eagerly and his eyes searching those of his American friend.  The British Foreign Secretary was a handsome and an inspiring figure.  He was a man of large, but of well knit, robust, and slender frame, wiry and even athletic; he had a large head, surmounted with dark brown hair, slightly touched with gray; a finely cut, somewhat rugged and bronzed face, suggestive of that out-of-door life in which he had always found his greatest pleasure; light blue eyes that shone with straightforwardness and that on this occasion were somewhat pensive with anxiety; thin, ascetic lips that could smile in the most confidential manner or close tightly with grimness and fixed purpose.  He was a man who was at the same time shy and determined, elusive and definite, but if there was one note in his bearing that predominated all others, it was a solemn and quiet sincerity.  He seemed utterly without guile and magnificently simple.

Sir Edward at once referred to the German invasion of Belgium.

“The neutrality of Belgium,” he said, and there was the touch of finality in his voice, “is assured by treaty.  Germany is a signatory power to that treaty.  It is upon such solemn compacts as this that civilization rests.  If we give them up, or permit them to be violated, what becomes of civilization?  Ordered society differs from mere force only by such solemn agreements or compacts.  But Germany has violated the neutrality of Belgium.  That means bad faith.  It means also the end of Belgium’s independence.  And it will not end with Belgium.  Next will come Holland, and, after Holland, Denmark.  This very morning the Swedish Minister informed me that Germany had made overtures to Sweden to come in on Germany’s side.  The whole plan is thus clear.  This one great military power means to annex Belgium, Holland, and the Scandinavian states and to subjugate France.”

Sir Edward energetically rose; he again stood near the mantelpiece, his figure straightened, his eyes were fairly flashing—­it was a picture, Page once told me, that was afterward indelibly fixed in his mind.

“England would be forever contemptible,” Sir Edward said, “if it should sit by and see this treaty violated.  Its position would be gone if Germany were thus permitted to dominate Europe.  I have therefore asked you to come to tell you that this morning we sent an ultimatum to Germany.  We have told Germany that, if this assault on Belgium’s neutrality is not reversed, England will declare war.”

“Do you expect Germany to accept it?” asked the Ambassador.

Sir Edward shook his head.

“No.  Of course everybody knows that there will be war.”