This geniality, this disposition not to take life too solemnly, sometimes lightened up the sombre atmosphere of the Foreign Office itself.  “Mr. Balfour went on a sort of mild rampage yesterday,” Page records.  “The British and American navies had come to an arrangement whereby the Brazilian ships that are coming over to help us fight should join the American unit, not the British, as was at first proposed.  Washington telegraphed me that the British Minister at Rio was blocking the game by standing out for the first British idea—­that the Brazilian ships should join the British.  It turned out in the conversation that the British Minister had not been informed of the British-American naval arrangement.  Mr. Balfour sent for Lord Hardinge.  He called in one of the private secretaries.  Was such a thing ever heard of?

“Did you ever know,’ said the indignant Mr. Balfour, turning to me, ’of such a thing as a minister not even being informed of his Government’s decisions?’ ‘Yes,’ I said, ’if I ransack my memory diligently, I think I could find such cases.’  The meeting went into laughter!”

Evidently the troubles which Page was having with his own State Department were not unfamiliar to British officialdom.

Page’s letters sufficiently reveal his fondness for Sir Edward Grey and the splendid relations that existed between them.  The sympathetic chords which the two men struck upon their first meeting only grew stronger with time.  A single episode brings out the bonds that drew them together.  It took place at a time when the tension over the blockade was especially threatening.  One afternoon Page asked for a formal interview; he had received another exceedingly disagreeable protest from Washington, with instructions to push the matter to a decision; the Ambassador left his Embassy with a grave expression upon his face; his associates were especially worried over the outcome.  So critical did the situation seem that the most important secretaries gathered in the Ambassador’s room, awaiting his return, their nerves strung almost to the breaking point.  An hour went by and nothing was heard from Page; another hour slowly passed and still the Ambassador did not return.  The faces of the assembled staff lengthened as the minutes went by; what was the Ambassador doing at the Foreign Office?  So protracted an interview could portend only evil; already, in the minds of these nervous young men, ultimatums were flying between the United States and Great Britain, and even war might be hanging in the balance.  Another hour drew out its weary length; the room became dark, dinner time was approaching, and still Page failed to make his appearance.  At last, when his distracted subordinates were almost prepared to go in search of their chief, the Ambassador walked jauntily in, smiling and apparently carefree.  What had happened?  What was to be done about the detained ships?

“What ships?” asked Page, and then suddenly he remembered.  “Oh, yes—­those.”  That was all right; Sir Edward had at once promised to release them; it had all been settled in a few minutes.