“I can’t believe that. Austria cannot possibly let an incident of that sort pass. There is mischief brewing. If she was merely intending to insist—as she has every right to do—on an inquiry being held that should satisfy reasonable demands for justice, she would have insisted on that long ago. But a fortnight has passed now, and still she makes no sign. I feel sure that something is being arranged. Dear me, I quite forgot, Tony asked me not to talk about it. But it doesn’t matter with you.”
“But what do you mean by something being arranged?” asked Michael.
She looked round as if to assure herself that she and Michael were alone.
“I mean this: that Austria is being persuaded to make some outrageous demand, some demand that no independent country could possibly grant.”
“But who is persuading her?” asked Michael.
“My dear, you—like all the rest of England—are fast asleep. Who but Germany, and that dangerous monomaniac who rules Germany? She has long been wanting war, and she has only been delaying the dawning of Der Tag, till all her preparations were complete, and she was ready to hurl her armies, and her fleet too, east and west and north. Mark my words! She is about ready now, and I believe she is going to take advantage of her opportunity.”
She leaned forward in her chair.
“It is such an opportunity as has never occurred before,” she said, “and in a hundred years none so fit may occur again. Here are we—England—on the brink of civil war with Ireland and the Home Rulers; our hands are tied, or, rather, are occupied with our own troubles. Anyhow, Germany thinks so: that I know for a fact among so much that is only conjecture. And perhaps she is right. Who knows whether she may not be right, and that if she forces on war whether we shall range ourselves with our allies?”
Michael laughed.
“But aren’t you piling up a European conflagration rather in a hurry, Aunt Barbara?” he asked.