"Do you know," he said next, "that I have come to-night partly for the reason that I have something to tell you?" "I rather suspected it," she replied, "though I could scarcely explain why." "Am I to hear it, too?" inquired Agnes. "If you are kind enough to be interested," he answered. "It will seem a slight enough affair to the world at large, but it seems rather tremendous to me. I feel a trifle overpowered and nervous. Through the kind efforts of Professor Herrick I have been honored with the offer of a place abroad." Bertha held out her hand. "Minister to the Court of St. James!" she said. "How they will congratulate themselves in London!" "They would," he replied, "if an ill-adjusted and singularly unappreciative government had not particularized a modest corner of Germany as standing in greater need of my special abilities." But he took her offered hand. When he glanced at Mrs. Sylvestre--truth to say he had taken some precautions against seeing her at all as he made his announcement--he found her bestowing upon him one of the calmest of her soft, reflective looks. "I used to like some of those quiet places in Germany," she said; "but you will find it a change from Washington." "I think," he answered, "that I should like a change from Washington;" and as soon as he had spoken he detected the touch of acrid feeling in his words. "I should fancy myself," she said, her soft look entirely undisturbed, "that it might be agreeable after one had been here some time." He had always admired beyond expression that touch of half-forgetful, pensive calmness in her voice and eyes, but he did not enjoy it just now. "It is a matter of temperament, I suppose," was his thought; "but, after all, we have been friends." Neither could it be said that he enjoyed the pretty and picturesque stories of German life she told afterward. They were told so well that they brought very near the life he might expect to lead, and he was not exactly in the mood to care to stand face to face with it. But he controlled himself sufficiently to make an excellent audience, and never had been outwardly in better spirits than he was after the stories were told. He was cool and vivacious; he told a story or two himself; he was in good voice when he went to the piano and sang. They were all laughing when Agnes left the room to put on her wraps to return home. When she was gone the laugh died down with odd suddenness. "Larry," said Bertha, "do you really want to go?" "No," he answered, turning sharply, "I don't want to go. I loathe and abhor the thought of it." "You want," she said, "to stay here?" "Yes, I do," was his reply, "and that decides me." "To go?" she asked, watching his pale, disturbed face. "Yes, to go! There is nothing to stay here for. I need the change. I have been here long enough--too long!" "Yes," she returned, "I think you have been here too long. You had better go away--if you think there is nothing to stay for."