"No doubt," said Sir Wilfrid.
It interested him to observe that Mademoiselle Le Breton was no longer pale. As the General spoke, a bright color had rushed into her cheeks. It seemed to Sir Wilfrid that she turned away and busied herself with the photographs in order to hide it.
The General rose, a thin, soldierly figure, with gray hair that drooped forward, and two bright spots of red on the cheek-bones. In contrast with the expansiveness of his previous manner to Mademoiselle Le Breton, he was now a trifle frowning and stiff--the high official once more, and great man.
"Good-night, Sir Wilfrid. I must be off."
"How are your sons?" said Sir Wilfrid, as he rose.
"The eldest is in Canada with his regiment."
"And the second?"
"The second is in orders."
"Overworking himself in the East End, as all the young parsons seem to be doing?"
"That is precisely what he has been doing. But now, I am thankful to say, a country living has been offered him, and his mother and I have persuaded him to take it."