“Yes. I think I have fulfilled the mission,” I managed to exclaim. Truth to tell, this extraordinary encounter had caused me considerable perplexity and annoyance.
“You have done excellently,” he said. “A telegram this morning from Lord Worthorpe shows with what tact you put matters to him, and I am glad to tell you that his interview with the President proved entirely satisfactory. I wired the news to Her Majesty only half-an-hour ago.”
“I did my best,” I observed, perhaps a trifle carelessly, for there was another matter upon which I was anxious to consult my eccentric benefactor.
“The task was one of unusual difficulty, I admit, Deedes, and you have shown yourself fully qualified for a post abroad. You shall have one before long.”
At other times I should have warmly welcomed the enthusiasm of this speech, and thanked him heartily for the promise of a more lucrative position, but now, crushed and hopeless, I felt that joy had left my soul for ever, and merely replied,—
“I am quite satisfied to be as I am. I do not care for the Continent.”
“Why?” he inquired, surprised. “If you remain in the Service here you will have but little chance of distinguishing yourself, whereas in Rome, Constantinople or Berlin, you might obtain chances of promotion.”
“I have been already in St Petersburg, you remember,” I said.
“Ah, of course. But you didn’t get on very well there,” he said. “It is a difficult staff for younger men to work amongst. You’d be more comfortable in Vienna, perhaps. Viennese society would suit you, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” I replied, very gravely. “I fear that henceforward I shall be, like yourself, a hater of society and all its ways.”