Like most young men who have got on in their calling, Christian Vellacott held his career in great respect. He felt that any sacrifice made for it carried its own reward. He thought that it levelled scruples and justified deceptions. He knew this Vicomte d'Audierne by reputation; he wished to hear more of him; and so he feigned ignorance--listening. “What has he written about?” inquired Hilda. “To ask if he may come and see us. I suppose he means to come and stay.” Vellacott looked what the French call “contraried.” “When?” asked the girl. “On Monday week.” And then Mrs. Carew turned to her other letters. Vellacott took the budget addressed to him, and walked away to where an iron table and some chairs stood in the shade of a deodar. In a few minutes he looked still more put out. He had learnt of the disturbances in Paris, and was reading a rather panic-stricken letter from Mr. Bodery. The truth was that there was no one in the office of the _Beacon_ who knew anything whatever about French home politics but Christian Vellacott. A continuance of these disturbances would necessarily assume political importance, and might even lead to a crisis. This meant an instant recall for Vellacott. In a crisis his presence in London or Paris was absolutely necessary to the _Beacon_. His holiday had barely lasted twenty-four hours, and there was already a question of recall. It happened also that within that short space a considerable change had come over Vellacott. The subtle influence of a country life, and possibly the low, peaceful song of the distant sea, were already beginning to make themselves felt. He actually detected a desire to sit still and do nothing--a feeling of which he had not hitherto been conscious. He was distinctly averse to leaving St. Mary Western just yet. But there is one task-master who knows no mercy and makes no allowances. Some of us who serve him know it to our cost, and yet we would be content to serve no other. That task-master is the Public. Vellacott was a public servant, and he knew his position. Somewhat later in the morning Molly and Hilda found him still seated at the table, writing with that concentrated rapidity which only comes with practice. “I am sorry,” he said, looking up, “but I must send off a telegram. I shall walk in to the station.” “I was just coming,” said Hilda, “to ask if you would drive me in. I want to get some things.” “And,” added Molly, “there are some domestic commissions--butcher, baker, &c.” Vellacott expressed his entire satisfaction with the arrangement, and by the time he had finished his letter the dog-cart was waiting at the door. Several of the family were standing round the vehicle talking in a desultory manner, and Vellacott learnt then for the first time that Frederick Farrar had left home that same morning to attend a midland race-meeting.