She glanced up (the least little bit that she had to) anxiously.  Graham smiled.  “I know Mr. Lessing,” he said.  “But, Hilda, he’s got to be moved.  Why, he may be in khaki yet!”

“Oh, Peter, don’t be silly.  Why, father’s fifty, and not exactly in training,” she laughed.  Then, seriously:  “But for goodness’ sake don’t say such things—­for my sake, anyway.”

Peter regarded her gravely, and held open the gate.  “I’ll remember,” he said, “but more unlikely things may happen than that.”

They went up the path together, and Hilda slipped a key into the door.  As it opened, a thought seemed to strike her for the first time.  “What will you do?” she demanded suddenly.

Mrs. Lessing was just going into the dining-room, and Peter had no need to reply.  “Good-morning, Mr. Graham,” she said, coming forward graciously.  “I wondered if Hilda would meet you:  she wanted to post a letter.  Come in.  You must be hungry after your walk.”

A manservant held the door open, and they all went in.  That magic sun shone on the silver of the breakfast-table, and lit up the otherwise heavy room.  Mrs. Lessing swung the cover of a silver dish and the eggs slipped in to boil.  She touched a button on the table and sat down, just as Mr. Lessing came rather ponderously forward with a folded newspaper in his hand.

“Morning, Graham,” he said.  “Morning, Hilda.  Been out, eh?  Well, well, lovely morning out; makes one feel ten years younger.  But what do you think of all this, Graham?” waving the paper as he spoke.

Peter just caught the portentous headline—­

“Germany declares war on Russia,”

as he pulled up to the table, but he did not need to see it.  There was really no news:  only that.  “It is certain, I think, sir,” he said.

“Oh, certain, certain,” said Lessing, seating himself.  “The telegrams say they are over the frontier of Luxembourg and massing against France.  Grey can’t stop ’em now, but the world won’t stand it—­can’t stand it.  There can’t be a long war.  Probably it’s all a big bluff again; they know in Berlin that business can’t stand a war, or at any rate a long war.  And we needn’t come in.  In the City, yesterday, they said the Government could do more by standing out.  We’re not pledged.  Anderson told me Asquith said so distinctly.  And, thank God, the Fleet’s ready!  It’s madness, madness, and we must keep our heads.  That’s what I say, anyway.”

Graham cracked an egg mechanically.  His sermon was coming back to him.  He saw a congregation of Lessings, and more clearly than ever the other things.  “What about Belgium?” he queried.  “Surely our honour is engaged there?”

Mr. Lessing pulled up his napkin, visibly perturbed.  “Yes, but what can we do?” he demanded.  “What is the good of flinging a handful of troops overseas, even if we can?  It’s incredible—­English troops in Flanders in this century.  In my opinion—­in my opinion, I say—­we should do better to hold ourselves in readiness.  Germany would never really dare antagonise us.  They know what it involves.  Why, there’s hundreds of millions of pounds at stake.  Grey has only to be firm, and things must come right.  Must—­absolutely must.”