A tall man in a grey suit came in, crossed the room quickly, and put his arms round her. She leant back against his shoulder, putting up one hand to touch his cheek caressingly.
"Why, how late you are! Betty left reproaches for you."
"I had a walk with Dowson. Then two or three people caught me on the way back—Rashdell among others." (Lord Rashdell was Foreign Secretary.) "There are some interesting telegrams from Paris—I copied them out for you."
The country happened to be at the moment in the midst of one of its periodical difficulties with France. There had been a good deal of diplomatic friction, and a certain amount of anxiety at the Foreign Office. Marcella lit the silver kettle again and made her man some fresh tea, while he told her the news, and they discussed the various points of the telegrams he had copied for her, with a comrade's freedom and vivacity. Then she said:
"Well, I have had an interesting time too! That young Tressady has been to tea."
"Oh! has he? They say there is a lot of stuff in him, and he may do us a great deal of mischief. How did you find him?"
"Oh, very clever, very limited—and a mass of prejudices," she said, laughing. "I never saw an odder mixture of knowledge and ignorance."
"What? Knowledge of India and the East?—that kind of thing?"
She nodded.
"Knowledge of everything except the subject he has come home to fight about! Do you know, Aldous—"