"I had to come down for the special service for the Archduke Franz Ferdinand," said Reggie, excitedly. "They gave us a regular wake, champagne by the gallon! Several of the _corps diplomatique_ became inspired! They saw visions and made prophesyings. Von Falkenturm, the German military attache, was shouting out, 'We've got to fight. We're going to fight! We don't care who we fight! Russia, France, England: yes, the whole lot of them!' The man was drunk, of course; but, after, all, _in vino veritas_. The rest of the square-heads were getting very rattled, and at last they succeeded in suppressing Falkenturm. But, I tell you, Geoffrey, it's coming at last; it's really coming!" "What's coming?" "Why, the Great War. Thank God, it's coming!" "Why thank God?" "Because we've all become too artificial and beastly. We want exterminating, and to start afresh. We shall escape at last from women and drawing-rooms and silly gossip. We shall become men. It will give us all something to do and something to think about." "Yes," echoed Geoffrey, "I wish I could get something to do." "You'll get it all right. I wish I were a soldier. Are you going to stop in Japan much longer?" "No--going next week--going home." "Look here, I'll put in my resignation right away, and I'll come along with you." "No, thanks," said Geoffrey, "rather not." In his excitement Reggie had failed to observe the chilliness of his friend's demeanour. This snub direct brought up the whole chain of events, which Reggie had momentarily forgotten, or which were too recent as yet to have assumed complete reality. "I'm sorry, Geoffrey," he said, as he rose to go. "Not at all," said Barrington, ignoring his friend's hand and turning aside to order another drink. Geoffrey had a letter in his pocket, received from his wife that morning. It ran:--