“No, my dear, I don’t. Why should we? We were meant to be happy. It’s only folly or wickedness--either in ourselves or other people--that brings unhappiness ...”--and, stumbling along after the thread of his thought,--“and, it seems to me that if we keep ourselves up to the pitch of deserving happiness, whatever happens outside us cannot take it from us. Troubles may come. Not many folks get through life without them, and they don’t turn out the best folks as a rule. But if we remain to one another what we are now, we shall be proof against them all and they won’t hurt us.... In other words, my child, it is not outward circumstance that counts, but our own inner feelings.” “Yes! I’m feeling all that, and more and more every day.... If this horrid war goes on do you think you will really be called up? I thought the London Scottish and the rest were only for home-defence.” “I wish to goodness we knew just how things stand. If it’s going to be a life-and-death struggle England must do her proper share. Compared with the armies over here ours is trifling,--in point of numbers, I mean. As far as it goes it’s probably better than any of them. But it’s very very small in comparison with their millions. And numbers tell. There may be a national call for volunteers. If it comes you wouldn’t have me shirk it?” “No ... but oh, I wish it might not come,” and she pressed his arm closer against her heart. The Kursaal concerts, costing at the lowest one franc each, were beyond them of course. So in the soft autumnal evenings they spent most of their time on the quais outside the gardens, sitting when a seat was obtainable, wandering along with the rest, leaning over the railings, with the dark lake stretching from under their feet away into the infinitude of night. There they could hear the music quite as well as the wealthier folk inside, and without a doubt enjoyed it more than any of them. The sunsets were wonderful beyond words. The evening star hung like a jewel in the afterglow and twinkled at itself in the smooth mirror below. Then the summer lightning played fitfully over the further hills and set the lake, and the bayonets of the quai-patrol that guarded them from invasion, shimmering and gleaming, and looked so like menacing signals that their thoughts turned constantly to the fact that somewhere over there the world was dreadfully at war.