“Now I have offended you again. I am sorry. Count Wratisloff is a man who speaks a little emphatically sometimes, but he had no intention of being unkind. He prayed for you himself at our prayer-meeting the next day.” “Very kind of him, I’m sure. I suppose he prayed that I might refuse the crown?” “Oh no. How could he pretend to regulate the course of public affairs? If the time is come for a great European war, who can prevent it? He prayed that all might happen for the best.” “Then you and your circle are fatalists, mademoiselle?” “Surely not. ‘What will be, will be’--that is what the fatalists say, is it not?” she looked at him inquiringly. “But what we say is, ‘What will be, must be for the best.’” “But why pray about it, then?” asked Caerleon, interested by this frank confession of faith. “That we may be brought to believe that it is so when we cannot see it,” she answered, in a low voice; and although Caerleon would willingly have pursued the subject, a turn in the path here brought them in sight of Cyril, and there was no further opportunity for private conversation. During the rest of the way home they spoke chiefly of temperance work, Mdlle. O’Malachy recounting incidents from her experience among Princess Soudaroff’s _protégés_, and Caerleon replying with reminiscences of the various abortive attempts at restrictive legislation which he had supported in his House of Commons days, while Cyril listened and smiled with lofty contempt. “Here we are,” he said at last, with undisguised relief, “and here is your father coming to meet us, mademoiselle.” “Naughty girl!” cried the O’Malachy, shaking his fist playfully at his daughter. “I hope you’ve given trouble enough to us and to these gentlemen? There’s your mother waiting for you on the balcony. Go and settle ut with her yourself. Me lord, I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you and to Lord Cyrul for your goodnuss to-day. Me wife is very nervous, but you have been most kind in relieving her anxiety. May I hope that you will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening? Madame O’Malachy will like to thank you herself.” “You are very kind,” said Caerleon. “We were hoping to call this afternoon----” “Call!” cried the O’Malachy in high contempt. “Would you talk about calling in this wildernuss? Come to-night, and we’ll be delightud to see you.” The invitation was accepted with suitable gratitude, and the O’Malachy returned to his wife and daughter, while Caerleon and Cyril sought their own quarters. Lunch was rather a silent ceremony, for Caerleon felt an unaccountable aversion to detailing to his brother his conversation with Nadia O’Malachy. “Not going out again, surely?” said Cyril, when the meal was over, and Caerleon took up his cap from the window-seat. “I want a smoke.” “Well, there are no ladies here, thank goodness! Sit down and smoke like a reasonable human being.” “No, I want a walk.”