“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 assure 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 canvass 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.  This new expedition, for instance, which I have a shrewd suspicion covers some deep design.”

“You think so, do you?  On what ground, pray?” said Mr. Faulks, with the slight sneer of superior knowledge.

“The Times man hints as much.  There has long been a rumour of some change in the plan of operations, and he seems to be right in his conjecture.”

“He knows nothing at all about it—­how can he?” said Mr. Faulks, contemptuously.

“You must forgive my differing with you.  It is not my business to say how he obtains his information, but I have generally found that he is right.  Now, this great expedition—­”

“Is all moonshine!” cried Mr. Faulks, losing his temper, and thrown off his guard.  “It’s quite a small affair—­a trip round the Sea of Azof, and the reduction of Kertch.”

“The old affair revived, in fact.”

“Neither more nor less.  There is no intention at the present moment of drawing any large detachment from the siege.  On the contrary, every effort is being strained to bring it to an end.”