“I see you have the news about Mr. Jefferson,” he said, looking at Mr. Calvert and Mr. Short.  “I have a letter from him myself and a long one from President Washington, which I have permission to communicate to you two, but which must go no further for the present,” and he handed it to Mr. Calvert.  “As you see, ’tis my orders to proceed to England as accredited agent to the British Government, with the object of settling the treaty disputes and of establishing, if possible, a commercial alliance with Great Britain.  The President has written me at length on the subject, and I shall start for London as soon as possible—­within a month, I hope.”

“’Tis a great compliment,” said Mr. Short, a little enviously.

“And a very delicate mission,” added Calvert.  And so it was, and an ungrateful one, too.  Several of the stipulations of the Peace of Paris, though ratified several years previously, were still unfulfilled.  The British had failed to surrender the frontier posts included in the territory of the United States, and the United States, on her side, had failed to pay the debts due to British merchants before the war.  Now, although America, at Washington’s instigation, was eager to fulfil her part of the treaty, England still held off, and ’twas to learn her ultimate intentions, and persuade her, if possible, to carry out her share of the conditions, that the President had named Mr. Gouverneur Morris as private agent to the British Government.  He was furthermore to discover whether England would send a minister to the infant union and also what her dispositions were in regard to making a commercial treaty.

This mission was discussed at length during dinner and until late into the evening, when Mr. Short, pleading a supper engagement with the Duchesse d’Orleans, went away, leaving Mr. Morris and Calvert together.

“And now, Ned,” said the older man, as they sat comfortably before the fire after Mr. Short’s departure, “your duties here will detain you no longer than mine, so why cannot we take that journey to England together?  You remember you would not go the last time I asked you.”

“There is nothing to keep me now,” returned Calvert, quietly, “and—­and in truth I shall be glad enough to get away,” he said, rising, and moving restlessly about the room.  And, indeed, he was anxious to get away and conquer, if possible, in some unfamiliar scene, the disappointment which was consuming him.

“I saw her a few days ago at Madame de Montmorin’s,” said Mr. Morris, in a kindly tone.  “She was looking very beautiful and asked about you—­do you know, boy, I think she would be glad to see you again?  Haven’t you been to the rue St. Honore all this while?”

“No,” replied Calvert, “and I shall not go.”

“The hardness of youth!  My young philosopher, when you are older you will be glad to make compromises with Happiness and go to meet her half way.  I think you can be a little cruel in your sure young strength, Ned, and a woman’s heart is easily hurt,” said Mr. Morris, with a sudden, unaccustomed seriousness.