"The good old days," said Creagh, smiling. "Let us hope our grandchildren will talk of us as we are now talking of our forbears, and bend the knee before our memories as we do now before the memories of our heroes. Beadon’s the man to go for, Hare; we are in his hands. Tell him to preach your gospel to his Ministry, to impress upon them the policy of constant energy and watchfulness, as opposed to drastic reforms which, alas! too often end in sloth." "The policy of the late Government reminds one of Lady Wereminster’s simile," said Beadon. "The Ministers certainly swept out a good many rooms, but they left them bare." "Isn’t it nearly time to tell our news?" said Calvert. "I have a little _bonne bouche_ for you, Mrs. Brand—I know how much it will mean to you, the woman to whom Richard owes so much. Neither he nor I forget it, if you have." He took her hand, and patted it affectionately. Evelyn could not answer. There was a mist before her eyes. "By the way, what I am about to say is in the strictest confidence," said Beadon. "But where is Mr. Brand? Oh, he had to leave early, I remember. I don’t want it to reach the Press for fully forty-eight hours, as Richard’s is the first appointment to be filled in my new Ministry. He is to be the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs; the appointment has only just been confirmed. I think nothing can suit him better. His gift of languages, his tact and diplomacy and unwearying patience—all will tell to their fullest." Lady Wereminster clapped her hands. "Hurrah! How glad I am! Come here, Mr. Farquharson, to be congratulated. Now you’ll go on from strength to strength." "I’m delighted, my dear fellow," said Creagh, his face glowing with satisfaction. "It’s the best thing for the country. But I don’t know that I envy our neighbours across the sea, though; they’ll tackle a rough customer in you." "Good," was Hare’s comment; "you deserve it. "Now we can sleep in peace," said Lord Wereminster benignly, "and sing ’I fear no foe’ with some conviction." Evelyn alone of the congratulatory group was dumb. To have one’s prayers answered openly is sometimes a betrayal of what those prayers have meant to one. Farquharson came quietly up to her, and, voiceless still, her eyes searched his face. How he had aged the last few months! There was a great patch of grey hair on the right-hand side of his brow. She wondered if she would ever see again the look of boyish exaltation he had had that night at Bramley. Hare, glancing at them, quietly drew Lady Wereminster’s attention to the fact that Mrs. Farquharson was still sitting apart from the rest with Meavy. "Would it not be correct to congratulate her too?" he suggested. "And you—have you nothing to say?" Farquharson asked. They were practically alone for the first time since his marriage. Evelyn looked down. Her eyes were wet. "Don’t—don’t!" she said; "it’s beyond all words—the gladness, I mean. You know the little desert song—