“Nothing,” replied Mr. Bodery, removing his tight gloves. “But it is too soon to think of getting anxious yet. Vellacott is eminently capable of taking care of himself--he is, above all things, a journalist. Things are disturbed in Paris, and it is possible that he has run across there.” Mrs. Carew smiled somewhat incredulously. “It was a singular time to start,” observed Hilda quietly. Mr. Bodery turned and looked at her. “Master mind in _this_ house,” he reflected. “Yes,” he admitted aloud. He folded his gloves and placed them in the pocket of his coat. The others watched him in silence. “Do you take sugar and cream?” inquired Hilda sweetly, speaking for the second time. “Please--both. In moderation.” “I say,” interrupted Sidney at this moment, “the Vicomte d'Audierne is following us in a fly. He will be here in five minutes.” Mrs. Carew nodded. She had not forgotten this guest. “The Vicomte d'Audierne,” said Mr. Bodery, with considerable interest, turning away from the tea-table, cup in hand. “Is that the man who got out of my train?” “Yes,” replied Sidney; “do you know him?” “I have heard of him.” Mr. Bodery turned and took a slice of bread and butter from a plate which Hilda held. At this moment there was a rumble of carriage wheels. “By the way,” said the editor of the _Beacon_, raising his voice so as to command universal attention, “do not tell the Vicomte d'Audierne about Vellacott. Do not let him know that Vellacott has been here. Do not tell him of my connection with the _Beacon_.” The ladies barely had time to reconsider their first impression of Mr. Bodery when the door was thrown open, and a servant announced M. d'Audierne. He who entered immediately afterwards--with an almost indecent haste--was of middle height, with a certain intrepid carriage of the head which appeals to such as take pleasure in the strength and endurance of men. His face, which was clean shaven, was the face of a hawk, with the contracted myope vision characteristic of that bird. It is probable that from the threshold he took in every occupant of the room. “Mrs. Carew,” he said in a pleasant voice, speaking almost faultless English, “after all these years. What a pleasure!” He shook hands, turning at the same time to the others. “And Sid,” he said, “and Molly--wicked little Molly. Never mind--your antecedents are safe. I am silent as the grave.” This was not strictly true. He was as deep, and deeper than the resting-place mentioned, but his method was superior to silence. “And Hilda,” he continued, “thoughtful little Hilda, who was always too busy to be naughty. Not like Molly, eh?” “Heavens! How old it makes one feel!” he exclaimed, turning to Mrs. Carew. The lady laughed. “You are not changed, at all events,” she said. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Bodery--the Vicomte d'Audierne.” The two men bowed. “Much pleasure,” said the Frenchman. Mr. Bodery bowed again in an insular manner, which just escaped awkwardness, and said nothing.