her husband and her daughter, and greeting the Honourable
Malcolm at the door, smothered him in a melodramatic embrace.

'My dear, brave Malcolm,' she cried.

With as good grace as possible the young man submitted to the maternal
endearments, disengaging her arms as soon as he decently could.

'Where's the governor?' he asked. 'Ah, there you are.--Hello,
Elise!--I'm frightfully sorry, pater,' he went on, shaking hands with
Lord Durwent and patting his sister on the shoulder, 'about those
telegrams of yours, but we were on M'Gregor's yacht miles from nowhere,
and didn't even know the dear old war was on until a fishing-johnny told
us. Are my orders here?'

'Yes,' answered Lord Durwent; 'there are two telegrams for you. One came
last night, and one this morning. I will just go into the library and
fetch them.'

'But, Malcolm,' said Lady Durwent, 'let me introduce our guest, Mr.
Selwyn of New York.

The young Englishman smiled with rather an attractive air of
embarrassment. 'I'm frightfully sorry,' he said amiably, proffering his
hand, 'I didn't see you there. Have you had any kind of a time? It's
rather a bore being inland in the summer, don't you think?'

'I have enjoyed myself very much,' said the American, 'in spite of the
tragic end to my visit.'

'Eh,' said the Honourable Malcolm, startled by the seriousness of the
other's voice, 'what's that? Ah yes--you mean the war. Excuse me if I
look at these, won't you?--Thanks, pater.'

'WE ARE AT WAR----THINK OF IT!' cried Lady Durwent in a gust of emotion,
assuming the duties of a Greek chorus while her son examined the
telegrams brought by her husband.

'Well, well!' said the cavalry lieutenant, reading the first message,
which was signed by the adjutant of his regiment; 'dear old Agitato. How
he does love sending out those sweet little things: "Leave cancelled;
return at once"! Ah, my word! "Secret and Confidential"--good old War
Office. What a rag they'll have now running their pet little regiments
all over the world! Humph! By Jove! we're to move to-morrow. Good
work! Let me see, pater. What train can I catch to town? I must throw
a few things together'--he looked at his watch--'but I'll be in heaps of
time for the 11.50. The Agitato always has a late lunch and never drinks
less than three glasses of port, so I'll throw myself on his full stomach
and squeal for mercy for being late. I say, pater, do come up while I
toss a few unnecessari