asked for instructions, and their questions presented
difficult and intricate problems which really ought to have gone before
the Cabinet. But as there would not be another meeting just yet,
everyone being away on vacation, it devolved upon Bracondale to decide
the question of Britain's policy himself.

In the pretty, cosy room, outside which the striped sun-blinds were
down, rendering it cool and pleasant after the midday heat on the beach,
the Foreign Minister stood thoughtfully stroking his moustache.

"Well, Jean," he asked, "had a quiet morning, dear?"

"Yes, delightful," was her reply. "The heat is, however, rather
oppressive."

"I'm awfully sorry I could not come down to fetch you, dear," he said;
"but I've been dreadfully busy all the morning--lots of worries, as you
know. I've only this moment risen from my table. There are more
complications between France and Austria."

"Oh, I know how busy you are," she replied as she seated herself at the
daintily set-out table, with its flowers, bright silver, and cut glass.

Their luncheons _tete-a-tete_ were always pleasant, for on such
occasions they sat at a small side-table, preferring it to the big
centre-table when there were no guests.

"Did you see anyone you knew?" he asked, carelessly, for often Mme.
Polivin, the rather stout wife of the Minister of Commerce, went to the
sands with her children.

"Well, nobody particular," was her reply, with feigned unconcern. "Enid
enjoyed herself immensely," she went on quickly. "She didn't bathe, so I
told her to make a sand castle. She was delighted, especially when the
water came in under the moat."

And then, as he seated himself opposite her, old Jenner entered with the
_hors d'oeuvres_.

Jean was thankful that the room, shaded as it was, was in half darkness,
so that her husband could not see how pale she was. Through the open
windows came the scent of flowers borne upon the warm air, and the
silence of the room was over everything.

He began to discuss their plans for the autumn.

"Trevor asks us to go a cruise in his yacht up the Adriatic in October,"
he said. "I had a letter from him this morning, dated from Stavanger.
You remember what a good time we had with him when we went to Algiers
and Tunis two years ago."

"I've never been to the Adriatic," she remarked.

"I went once, about nine years ago, with that financial fellow
Pettigrew--the fellow who afterwards met with a fatal accident in a lift
a