Their womenkind left them at that moment to talk to some acquaintances seated a short distance way. Mr. Watson, passing within a few yards of them, was brought to a standstill by Dominey's greeting. They talked for a moment or two upon idle subjects. “Your news, I trust, continues favourable?” the Ambassador remarked, observing the etiquette which required him to be the first to leave the realms of ordinary conversation. “It is a little negative in quality,” the other answered, after a moment's hesitation. “I am summoned to Downing Street again at six o'clock.” “I have already confided the result of my morning despatches to the Prime Minister,” Terniloff observed. “I went through them before I came down here,” was the somewhat doubtful reply. “You will have appreciated, I hope, their genuinely pacific tone?” Terniloff asked anxiously. His interlocutor bowed and then drew himself up. It was obvious that the strain of the last few days was telling upon him. There were lines about his mouth, and his eyes spoke of sleepless nights. “Words are idle things to deal with at a time like this,” he said. “One thing, however, I will venture to say to you, Prince, here and under these circumstances. There will be no war unless it be the will of your country.” Terniloff was for a moment unusually pale. It was an episode of unrecorded history. He rose to his feet and raised his hat. “There will be no war,” he said solemnly. The Cabinet Minister passed on with a lighter step. Dominey, more clearly than ever before, understood the subtle policy which had chosen for his great position a man as chivalrous and faithful and yet as simple-minded as Terniloff. He looked after the retreating figure of the Cabinet Minister with a slight smile at the corner of his lips. “In a time like this,” he remarked significantly, “one begins to understand why one of our great writers--was it Bernhardi, I wonder?--has written that no island could ever breed a race of diplomatists.” “The seas which engirdle this island,” the Ambassador said thoughtfully, “have brought the English great weal, as they may bring to her much woe. The too-nimble brain of the diplomat has its parallel of insincerity in the people whose interests he seems to guard. I believe in the honesty of the English politicians, I have placed that belief on record in the small volume of memoirs which I shall presently entrust to you. But we talk too seriously for a summer afternoon. Let us illustrate to the world our opinion of the political situation and play another nine holes at golf.” Dominey rose willingly to his feet, and the two men strolled away towards the first tee. “By the by,” Terniloff asked, “what of our cheerful little friend Seaman? He ought to be busy just now.” “Curiously enough, he is returning from Germany to-night,” Dominey announced. “I expect him at Berkeley square. He is coming direct to me.” CHAPTER XXVI