nations. "England will come in. There'll be the devil to pay. All Europe will be torn to pieces like a rag baby by a pack of wolves," he declared.
Abruptly George Judson stood up. "And my wife and child are sailing into that tomorrow!"
The two men exchanged glances, gravely impressed.
"However, she'll read the papers and—she won't go," reasoned George hopefully.
But the doctor shook his head decisively. "I think she will," he asserted. "Anything as big as a trip to Europe was not decided upon hastily. The fact of war is likely to make her more determined. Indeed, I suspect anything like a war between nations will seem so mild compared to the strife that has gone on in her heart that she will fly to it with a kind of rapture. She craves adventure. She will get it. She pines for action—she will see it. She is in search of romance—she will find it, the grisly, horrible romance of sudden death. She will see men adventuring all round her—women outraged, children trampled, famine stalking! She might get so well fed up on adventure that a home with a butler and a chef in it, in far-off Detroit, and a husband that sticks to his desk like glue all day and comes home nights and pesters her with his selfish caresses, might be the most fascinating idea in the world to her."
