Part 56 (1/2)

He got up hurriedly, nervously, saying--

”I must leave you, dear lady; there are matters of great urgency to be dealt with to-day.”

”No apologies: it's my fault for trespa.s.sing here. I will run away.

To-night--do not forget me, at eight,” and Mrs. Wilders took her departure.

The little house in Thistle Grove wore its most smiling aspect at evening, with its soft-shaded lamps, pretty hangings, and quant.i.ties of variegated, sweet-smelling flowers; it was radiant with light, full of perfume, bright in colour.

Mrs. Wilders's guests were three--Mrs. Jones, a staid, hard-featured, middle-aged lady in deep black, an officer's widow like herself, as she explained, who lived a few doors down, and was an acquaintance of the last month or two, Mr. Hobson, and Mr. Faulks.

The dinner was almost studied in simplicity, but absolutely perfect of its kind. Clear soup, salmon cutlets, a little joint, salad, and quail in vine-leaves. The only wine was a sound medium claret, except at dessert, when, after the French fas.h.i.+on, Mrs. Wilders gave champagne.

Through dinner the talk had been light and trivial, but with dessert and coffee it gradually grew more serious, and touched upon the topics of the day.

”These must be trying times for you Government officials,” said Mr.

Hobson, carelessly.

”Yes, indeed,” replied Mr. Faulks, with a deep sigh. ”I often feel that life is hardly worth having.”

”The public service is no bed of roses,” remarked Mrs. Jones. ”It killed my poor dear husband.”

”It is so disheartening to slave day after day as you do,” went on Mrs. Wilders to Mr. Faulks, ”and get no thanks.”

”Very much the other thing!” cried Mr. Hobson; ”you are about the best abused people in the world, I should say, just now.”

”It is hard on us, for I a.s.sure you we do our best. We are constantly, uninterruptedly at work. I never know a moment that I may not be wanted--that some special messenger may not be after me. I have to leave my address so that they can find me wherever I am, and at any time.”

”Is it so now?” asked Mrs. Wilders. ”Cannot you even give me the pleasure of your society for an hour or two without its being known?”

”I do it in this way, dear lady. I leave a sealed envelope on my hall table, which is only opened in case of urgency.”

”You don't expect to be summoned to-night, I hope?” inquired the fair hostess.

”I cannot say; it is quite probable.”

”There are, perhaps, important movements intended in the Crimea?”

asked Mr. Hobson, as he picked his strawberries and prepared himself a sauce of sugar and cream.

”You have heard so?” replied Mr. Faulks.

”There was something in the _Times_ this morning from their special correspondent. Some new expedition was talked of.”

”They ought to be all shot, these correspondents,” said Mr. Faulks, decisively. ”They permit themselves to canva.s.s the conduct and character of persons of our position with a freedom that is intolerable.”

”Pardon me,” said Mr. Hobson, ”but as one of the British public, a taxpayer and bearer of the public burden, I feel grateful to these newspaper gentlemen for seeing that our money is properly spent.”

”I am sorry to hear you commend them,” said Mr. Faulks, in a way that implied much resentment.

”Well, but without them we should hear of nothing that is going on.