Events moved rapidly. Of what use to write of those restless, feverish days before the 4th of August, 1914? They are too well known to all the world. John, as ever, did his duty, and at once put his name down for active service, cajoled a medical board which would otherwise probably have condemned him and trained with the North Somerset Yeomanry in anticipation of being soon sent to France. But before all this happened, the night War was declared; he remained in his own sitting-room at Ardayre, and Amaryllis wondered, and towards dawn crept out of bed and listened in the passage, but no sound came from within the room. How very unsatisfactory this strange reserve between them was becoming! Would she never be able to surmount it? Must they go on to the end of their lives, living like two polite friendly acquaintances, neither sharing the other's thoughts? She hardly realised that the War could personally concern John. The Yeomanry, she imagined, were only for home defence, so at this stage no anxiety troubled her about her husband. The next day he seemed frightfully preoccupied, and then he talked to her seriously of their home and its traditions, and how she must love it and understand its meaning. He spoke too of his great wish for a child--and Amaryllis wondered at the tone almost of anguish in his voice. "If only we had a son, Amaryllis, I would not care what came to me. A true Ardayre to carry on! The thought of Ferdinand here after me drives me perfectly mad!" Amaryllis knew not what to answer. She looked down and clasped her hands. John came quite close and gazed into her face, as if therein some comfort could be found; then he folded her in his arms. "Oh! Amaryllis!" he said, and that was all. "What is it? Oh! what does everything mean?" the poor child cried. "Why, why can't we have a son like other people of our age?" John kissed her again. "It shall be--it must be so," he answered--and framed her face in his hands. "Amaryllis--I know you have often wondered whether I really loved you. You have found me a stupid, unsatisfactory sort of husband--indeed, I am but a dull companion at the best of times. Well, I want you to know that I do--and I am going to try to change, dear little girl. If I knew that I held some corner of your heart it would comfort me." "Of course, you do, John. Alas! if you would only unbend and be loving to me, how happy we could be." He kissed her once more. "I will try." That afternoon he went up to London to his medical board, and Amaryllis was to join him in Brook Street on the following day. She was stunned like every one else. War seemed a nightmare--an unreality--she had not grasped its meaning as yet. She thought of Verisschenzko and his words. What was her duty? Surely at a great crisis like this she must have some duty to do? The library in Brook Street was a comfortable room and was always their general sitting-room; its windows looked out on the street.