The King had recently delivered an unprecedented personal message to Parliament. In tones of bleak urgency, he had pointed to the First Consul's naked aggression since the peace—his occupation of Switzerland, his annexation of Savoy and more: there was little doubt now that Addington's gamble of appeasement had failed, and that England must brace herself to renew the struggle against the most powerful military force the world had ever seen.

Kydd, an experienced and distinguished naval officer, would not languish in unemployment for long and Renzi felt a stab of concern: might his friend be prevented from keeping his word on their arrangement?

He glanced at his pocket watch, his thoughts now on his imminent meeting. Cecilia's image had gone with him in his mind's eye on his long journey and stayed with him to be burnished and cherished: soon he would face its reality. He drew a long breath.

Kydd's mother handled the capacious muff of kangaroo skin dubiously; its warm, fox-red fur divided pleasingly to an underlying soft dark grey—but might not other ladies disdain it as an inferior substitute for fine pine marten?

"T' catch 'em boundin' along, Ma, it's so divertin' t' see! They hop—like this!" To the consternation of the house-maid, Kydd performed a creditable imitation of a kangaroo's leap.

"Do behave y'self, son," his mother scolded, but today Kydd could do little wrong. "Have y' not given thought, dear," she continued, in quite another tone, "that now you've achieved so much an' all it might be a prime time t' think about settlin' down? Take a pretty wife an' sport wi' y'r little ones—I saw some fine cottages on the Godalming road as might suit . . ." But her son was clearly not in the mood to listen.