"Listen, how the newsboys are calling! is it something fresh, do you think ?" A moment's listening attention was sufficient to make it known that the news shouted outside was concerned only with the result of a county cricket match, and Michael, as well as Sylvia, was conscious of a certain relief to know that at the immediate present there was no fresh clang of the bell that was beating out the seconds of peace that still remained.

Just for now, for this hour on Saturday afternoon, there was a respite: no new link was forged in the intolerable sequence of events.

But, even as he drew breath in that knowledge, there came the counter-stroke in the sense that those whose business it was to disseminate the news that would cause their papers to sell, had just a cricket match to advertise their wares.

Now, when the country and when Europe were on the brink of a bloodier war than all the annals of history contained, they, who presumably knew what the public desired to be informed on, thought that the news which would sell best was that concerned with wooden bats and leather balls, and strong young men in flannels.

Michael had heard with a sort of tender incredulity Mrs.
Falbe's optimistic reflections, and had been more than content to let her rest secure in them; but was the country, the heart of England, like her?
Did it care more for cricket matches, as she for her book, than for the maintenance of the nation's honour, whatever that championship might cost?
.