She had seen sufficient of the situation toknow where Michael was most certainly bound for. Yet the very fact ofSylvia's outspoken friendliness with him made her wonder a little as towhat his reception would be. She would hardly have said so plainly thatshe and her brother were devoted to him if she had been devoted to himwith that secret tenderness which, in its essentials, is reticent aboutitself. Her half-hour's conversation with the girl had given her acertain insight into her; still more had her attitude when she stood byMichael as he played for her, and put her hand on his shoulder preciselyas she would have done if it had been another girl who was seated at thepiano. Without doubt Michael had a real existence for her, but therewas no sign whatever that she hailed it, as a girl so unmistakably does,when she sees it as part of herself.
"More about them," she said. "What are they? Who are they?"
He outlined for her, giving the half-English, half-German parentage, theshadow-like mother, the Bavarian father, Sylvia's sudden and comet-likerising in the musical heaven, while her brother, seven years her senior,had spent his time in earning in order to give her the chance which shehad so brilliantly taken. Now it was to be his turn, the shackles of hisdrudgery no longer impeded him, and he, so Michael radiantly prophesied,was to have his rocket-like leap to the zenith, also.
"And he's German?" she asked.
"Yes. Wasn't he rude about my being a toy soldier? But that's thenatural German point of view, I suppose."
Michael strolled to the fireplace.
"Hermann's so funny," he said. "For days and weeks together you wouldthink he was entirely English, and then a word slips from him like that,which shows he is entirely German. He was like that in Munich, when theEmperor appeared and sent for me."
Aunt Barbara drew her chair a little nearer the fire, and sat up.
"I want to hear about that," she said.
"But I've told you; he was tremendously friendly in a national manner."
"And that seemed to you real?" she asked.
Michael considered.
"I don't know that it did," he said. "It all seemed to me ratherfeverish, I think."
"And he asked quantities of questions, I think you said."
"Hundreds. He was just like what he was when he came to Ashbridge. Hereviewed the Yeomanry, and shot pheasants, and spent the afternoon in asteam launch, apparently studying the deep-water channel of the river,where it goes underneath my father's place; and then in the eveningthere was a concert."
Aunt Barbara did not heed the concert.
"Do you mean the channel up from Harwich," she asked, "of which theAdmiralty have the secret chart?"
"I fancy they have," said Michael. "And then after the concert there wasthe torchlight procession, with the bonfire on the top of the hill."
"I wasn't there. What else?"
"I think that's all," said Michael. "But what are you driving at, AuntBarbara?"
She was silent a moment.
"I'm driving at this," she said. "The Germans are accumulating a vastquantity of knowledge about England. Tony, for instance, has a Germanvalet, and when he went down to Portsmouth the other day to see theAmerican ship that was there, he took him with him. And the man took acamera and was found photographing where no photography is allowed. Didyou see anything of a camera when the Emperor came to Ashbridge?"
Michael thought.
"Yes; one of his staff was clicking away all day," he said. "He sent alot of them to my mother."
"And, we may presume, kept some copies himself," remarked Aunt Barbaradrily. "Really, for childish simplicity the English are the biggestfools in creation."
"But do you mean--"
"I mean that the Germans are a very knowledge-seeking people, and thatwe gratify their desires in a very simple fashion. Do you think they areso friendly, Michael? Do you know, for instance, what is a very commontoast in German regimental messes? They do not drink it when there areforeigners there, but one night during the manoeuvres an officer ina mess where Tony was dining got slightly 'on,' as you may say, andsuddenly drank to 'Der Tag.'"
"That means 'The Day,'" said Michael confidently.
"It does; and what day? The day when Germany thinks that all is ripefor a war with us. 'Der Tag' will dawn suddenly from a quiet, peacefulnight, when they think we are all asleep, and when they have got all theinformation they think is accessible. War, my dear."
Michael had never in his life seen his aunt so serious, and he wasamazed at her gravity.
"There are hundreds and hundreds of their spies all over England," shesaid, "and hundreds of their agents all over America. Deep, patientGermany, as Carlyle said. She's as patient as God and as deep as thesea. They are working, working, while our toy soldiers play golf. Iagree with that adorable pianist; and, what's more, I believe they thinkthat 'Der Tag' is near to dawn. Tony says that their manoeuvres thisyear were like nothing that has ever been seen before. Germany is afighting machine without parallel in the history of the world."
She got up and stood with Michael near the fireplace.
"And they think their opportunity is at hand," she said, "though notfor a moment do they relax their preparations. We are their real enemy,don't you see? They can fight France with one hand and Russia with theother; and in a few months' time now they expect we shall be in thethroes of an internal revolution over this Irish business. They may beright, but there is just the possibility that they may be astoundinglywrong. The fact of the great foreign peril--this nightmare, thisArmageddon of European war--may be exactly that which will pull ustogether. But their diplomatists, anyhow, are studying the Irishquestion very closely, and German gold, without any doubt at all, ishelping the Home Rule party. As a nation we are fast asleep. I wonderwhat we shall be like when we wake. Shall we find ourselves alreadyfettered when we wake, or will there be one moment, just one moment, inwhich we can spring up? At any rate, hitherto, the English have alwaysbeen at their best, not their worst, in desperate positions. They hateexciting themselves, and refuse to do it until the crisis is actually onthem. But then they become disconcertingly serious and cool-headed."
"And you think the Emperor--" began Michael.
"I think the Emperor is the hardest worker in all Germany," saidBarbara. "I believe he is trying (and admirably succeeding) to make ustrust his professions of friendship. He has a great eye for detail, too;it seemed to him worth while to assure you even, my dear Michael, of hisregard and affection for England. He was always impressing on Tony thesame thing, though to him, of course, he said that if there was anycountry nearer to his heart than England it was America. Stuff andnonsense, my dear!"
All this, though struck in a more serious key than was usual with AuntBarbara, was quite characteristic of her. She had the quality of mindwhich when occupied with one idea is occupied with it to the exclusionof all others; she worked at full power over anything she took up. Butnow she dismissed it altogether.
"You see what a diplomatist I have become," she said. "It is afascinating business: one lives in an atmosphere that is charged withsecret affairs, and it infects one like the influenza. You catch itsomehow, and have a feverish cold of your own. And I am quite useful tohim. You see, I am such a chatterbox that people think I let out thingsby accident, which I never do. I let out what I want to let out onpurpose, and they think they are pumping me. I had a long conversationthe other day with one of the German Embassy, all about Irish affairs.They are hugely interested about Irish affairs, and I just make a noteof that; but they can make as many notes as they please about whatI say, and no one will be any the wiser. In fact, they will be thefoolisher. And now I suppose I had better take myself away."
"Don't do anything of the kind," said Michael.
"But I must. And if when you are down at Ashbridge at Christmas youfind strangers hanging about the deep-water reach, you might just let meknow. It's no use telling your father, because he will certainly thinkthey have come to get a glimpse of him as he plays golf. But I expectyou'll be too busy thinking about that new friend of yours, a
nd perhapshis sister. What did she tell me we had got to do? 'To her garlands letus bring,' was it not? You and I will both send wreaths, Michael, thoughnot for her funeral. Now don't be a hermit any more, but come and seeme. You shall take your garland girl into dinner, if she will come,too; and her brother shall certainly sit next me. I am so glad you havebecome yourself at last. Go on being yourself more and more, my dear: itsuits you."
CHAPTER VIII
Some fortnight later, and not long before Michael was leaving town forhis Christmas visit to Ashbridge, Sylvia and her brother were lingeringin the big studio from which