“Then war is not declared?” interrupted the reporter, excitedly.
“No. The alarming report reproduced by the English Press from the St Petersburg journal is apparently totally incorrect.”
“And I presume I may say that there is no rupture of diplomatic negotiations with St Petersburg?”
Lord Warnham, smiling that sphinx-like smile which might be construed into anything the interlocutor chose, turned to the Prime Minister for his opinion upon the point.
“Of course,” exclaimed the Marquis. “We have received no intimation of any diplomatic difficulty. Further, you may reassure the public that the Government will do everything in its power to avert any catastrophe; but as no catastrophe has occurred, all this excitement is quite uncalled for.”
“May I use your own words, your Lordship?” inquired the reporter, quickly. “I want to reproduce this in the form of an interview.”
“You can act as you please about that,” the Premier said, smiling as he added, “I suppose we shall see it in every newspaper in England to-morrow, headed, ‘The War Against England: Interview with the Prime Minister’—eh?”
“Not to-morrow, your Lordship—to-night,” laughed the reporter, fidgeting in his eagerness to get away with the finest bit of “copy” that ever his pencil wrote.
The Premier turned to speak with Lord Warnham, but my friend Johns was not to be delayed, even by the discussion of the nation’s peril. If the Archangel had suddenly appeared he would have calmly “taken a note” of how such an occurrence affected the onlookers.
“Is there anything more I can say, your Lordship?” he asked, impatiently interrupting their conversation.