Then Drayton, whom they had not seen for months (since he had had his promotion) telephoned to Dorothy to come and dine with him at his club in Dover Street. Anthony missed altogether the significance of that.
He had actually made for himself an after-dinner peace in which coffee could be drunk and cigarettes smoked as if nothing were happening to Europe.
"England," he said, "will not be drawn in, because her ultimatum will stop the War. There won't be any Armageddon."
"Oh, won't there!" said Michael. "And I can tell you there won't be much left of us after it's over."
He had been in Germany and he knew. He carried himself with a sort of stern haughtiness, as one who knew better than any of them. And yet his words conveyed no picture to his brain, no definite image of anything at all.
But in Nicholas's brain images gathered fast, one after another; they thickened; clear, vivid images with hard outlines. They came slowly but with order and precision. While the others talked he had been silent and very grave.
"Some of us'll be left," he said. "But it'll take us all our time."
Anthony looked thoughtfully at Nicholas. A sudden wave of realization beat up against his consciousness and receded.
"Well," he said, "we shall know at midnight."