The young man unconsciously quickened his pace. "I think it is certain," he said. "We must come in. I should say, more likely, the credit system makes it impossible for us to keep out. I mean, half Europe can't go to war and we sit still. Not in these days. And if it comes--Good Lord, Hilda, do you know what it means? I can't see the end, only it looks to me like being a fearful smash.... Oh, we shall pull through, but nobody seems to see that our ordinary life will come down like a pack of cards. And what will the poor do? And can't you see the masses of poor souls that will be thrown into the vortex like, like...." He broke off. "I can't find words," he said, gesticulating nervously. "It's colossal." "Peter, you're going to preach about it: I can see you are. But do take care what you say. I should hate father to be upset. He's so--oh, I don't know!--_British_, I think. He hates to be thrown out, you know, and he won't think all that possible." 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.