“Well, yes,” was the reply. “There has been a disturbance in Paris. I may have to go over there on receipt of a telegram from the office;” he stopped, and looked slowly round the table. Hilda's attention was taken up by her plate, upon which, however, there was nothing. He leant forward, and handed her the toast-rack. She took a piece, but forgot to thank him. “I am sorry,” he continued simply, “very sorry that the disturbances should have taken place just at this time.” His voice expressed natural and sincere regret, but no surprise. This seemed to arouse Molly's curiosity, for she looked up sharply. “You do not seem to be at all surprised,” she said. “No,” he replied; “I am accustomed to this sort of thing, you see. I knew all along that there was the chance of being summoned at any time. This letter only adds to the chance--that is all!” “It is a great shame,” said Molly, with a pout. “I am sure there are plenty of people who could do it instead of you.” Christian laughed readily. “I am sure there are,” he replied, “and that is the very reason why I must take the opportunities that fortune offers.” Hilda looked across the table at him, and noted the smile upon his lips, the light of energy in his eyes. The love of action had driven all other thoughts from his mind. “I suppose,” she said conversationally, “that it will in reality be a good thing for you if the summons does come.” “Yes,” he replied, without meeting her glance; “it will be a good thing for me.” “Is that consolatory view of the matter the outcome of philosophy, or of virtue?” inquired Molly mischievously. “Of virtue,” replied Christian gravely, and then he changed the subject. After breakfast he devoted a short time to the study of some newspaper cuttings inclosed in Mr. Bodery's letter. Then he suddenly expressed his determination of walking down to the village post office. “I wish,” he said, “to send a telegram, and to get some newspapers, which have no doubt come by the second post. After that you will be troubled no more about my affairs.” “Until a telegram comes,” said Hilda quietly, without looking up from a letter she held in her hand. She received one daily from Farrar. Christian glanced at her with his quick smile. “Oh,” he said, “I do not expect a telegram. It is not so serious as all that. In fact, it is not worth thinking about.” “You have a most enviable way of putting aside disagreeable subjects,” persisted Hilda, “for discussion at a vague future period.” Christian was steadily cheerful that morning, imperturbably practical. “That,” he said, “is the outcome--not of virtue--but of philosophy. Will you come to the post office with Stanley and me? I am sure there is no possible household duty to prevent you.”