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Mrs. Mitford in the interval rushed into the breach, and continued:

"You know, Christian, that we are going to the south of France to-morrow."

Christian did not answer. She gave a brief nod; her lips were firmly pressed together; her eyes were bright. She was saying to herself, "I won't cry. I won't let tears come; I won't—I won't—I won't!"

"Yes," said Mr. Mitford, "we are going to Marseilles; and on a longer journey."

Christian looked up at him. He took her hand. Once the ice was broken he continued more fluently:

"I am appointed Consul-General of Teheran in Persia. It is a very honorable position, and——"

Christian stirred restlessly. Mrs. Mitford looked at her.

"Why doesn't she speak?" she thought. "I quite expected her to say, 'And you will take me with you?'—to say those words very earnestly, and be passionate and troublesome about it."

But Christian did not say anything. She did not even express surprise.

"We go to-morrow morning," continued Mr. Mitford—"your mother and I. Christian, child, why don't you speak?"