ill. She shook hands with Douglas, when he was presented to her, with

polite indifference, then seated herself in a chair and leaned back wearily. Douglas and Thornton exchanged glances, and the latter shook his head sadly. He was about to speak when Mrs. Truxton bustled into the room.

"I am sorry to keep everybody waiting," she exclaimed, as Douglas pulled forward a chair for her. "But, if you will have dinner at such a ridiculously early hour, Dana, you must expect your guests to be late."

"You are not late, Kate, for dinner has not yet been announced. I had it earlier than usual as I thought we would retire soon afterwards and get a good night's rest."

Cynthia shuddered involuntarily, and Eleanor, whose hand rested on her shoulder, patted it affectionately. "It's all very well for you older people to keep early hours, Uncle Dana, but Cynthia and I are going to do just as we please. Personally, I expect to stay up until the wee sma' hours."

"Dinner am served," announced Nicodemus, opening the folding doors leading to the dining room, and, with an old-fashioned courtly bow, Colonel Thornton offered his arm to Mrs. Truxton and escorted her to the table, the two girls and Douglas following in their wake.

The dinner passed quickly. Thornton was an agreeable talker, and Douglas, who had traveled in many lands, seconded his efforts by recounting many amusing experiences which had befallen him. Cynthia's pale cheeks assumed a more natural hue as the two skilful talkers drew her out of herself, and Thornton sat back, well pleased, when he finally succeeded in making her laugh.

"Washington isn't what it used to be," he declared. "As trite a statement as it is true. Its very bigness has spoiled it socially. There are cliques within cliques, and too many foreign elements dominate it nowadays."

"Do you refer to the Diplomatic Corps?" asked Douglas, breaking off a low-toned conversation with Eleanor.

"Not entirely. When I speak of the 'foreign element,' I also mean the 'climbers.'"

"We Georgetown people call them the 'pushers,'" announced Mrs. Truxton, helping herself to the ice cream which Nicodemus was passing.

"And yet," continued Thornton, "I dare say there were just as amusing characters in Washington fifty years ago as now."

"How about the woman of whom I have heard," asked Eleanor, "who carried off the silver meat skewer at the French Legation, as it was then, as a souvenir, and afterwards proudly used it as a hatpin?"

"Human nature is very much the same from one generation to another," acknowledged Mrs. Truxton. "But the types are different. I recollect my grandmother's telling me that she attended services one Sunday at St. John's Episcopal Church on Lafayette Square when the rector preached a fiery sermon against the sin of dueling. Mrs. Alexander Hamilton and her daughter sat in the pew just in front of my grandmother, and she said Miss Hamilton bore the tirade for some minutes, then rose, turned to her mother, and remarked in an audible tone: 'Come, Ma; we'll go. This is no place for us.'"

"Come, you needn't put it all on Washington," exclaimed Douglas. "Georgetown has famous blunderers and eccentric characters as well."

"And ghosts," added Mrs. Truxton. "Do not deprive Georgetown of its chief attraction. Ghosts and Past Glory walk hand and hand through these old streets."

"Ghosts," echoed Douglas, turning to his host. "Unless my memory is playing me false, this house used to be thought haunted. It seems to me I've heard tales of secret passages and mysterious noises."

Thornton laughed outright. "That old legend was caused by flying squirrels getting in the wall through cracks in the eaves and chimneys. Sometimes on still nights I can hear them dropping nuts, which make a great noise as they fall from floor to floor. It's enough to scare a nervous person into fits."

"You are very disappointing, Uncle Dana," objected Eleanor. "When Douglas--Mr. Hunter,"--catching herself up, but no one apparently noticed the slip, and she went on hurriedly--"spoke of spooks I had hopes of an ancestral ghost."

"I always understood that this house was haunted, Dana," put in Mrs. Truxton.

"Well, I believe we are supposed to possess a ghost--a very respectable, retiring one," added Thornton, as Cynthia's eyes, which were fixed upon him, grew to twice their usual size. "My great-aunt, Sophronia Thornton, was a maiden lady, a good deal of a Tartar, I imagine, from the dance she led my Great-grandfather Thornton, who was an easy-going, peaceable man. She ran the house for him until his marriage, and then ran his wife, and, according to tradition, she has run her descendants out of her room ever since."

"Good gracious!" ejaculated Cynthia. "Do tell us all about her."

"There is not so very much to recount." Thornton smiled at her eagerness. "The story goes, as I heard it first from my grandfather, that when he attempted to occupy her room, the southwest chamber, he was driven out."

"How?"

"He was very fond of reading in bed. As I said before, my great-aunt was very rigid and did not approve of late hours, which was one rock she and her brother split on. My grandfather, not having the lighting facilities of the present day, used to read in bed by placing a lighted candlestick on his chest, holding his book behind the candle so that its light fell full on the printed page. At eleven o'clock every night he would feel a slight puff of air and the candle would go out. He tried everything to stop it. He stuffed every crack and cranny through which a draft might be supposed to come, but it was of no use; his light was always extinguished at eleven o'clock."

"Do you believe it?" asked Cynthia.

Thornton shrugged his shoulders. "I can only give you my own experience. I occupied the room once, when home on a college vacation. The house was filled with visitors, and I was put in the southwest chamber. Everything went on very smoothly until one night I decided to cram for an examination, and took my books to my room. I had an ordinary oil lamp on the table by my bed, and so commenced reading. After I had been reading about an hour the lamp went out suddenly. I struck a match and relit it; again it was extinguished. We kept that up most of the night; then I gathered my belongings and spent the rest of the time before breakfast on the sofa in the library, where I was not disturbed by the whims of the ghost of my spinster great-aunt."

"'There are more things in Heaven and earth,'" quoted Eleanor, as she rose in obedience to a signal from Mrs. Truxton. "Where shall we go, Uncle Dana?" as they strolled out into the hall.

"Into the library. Nicodemus will serve coffee there, and, if you ladies have no objection, Douglas and I will smoke there also."

"Why, certainly," exclaimed Mrs. Truxton, picking out a comfortable chair and signaling Douglas to take the one next hers, and without more ado she plunged into questions relating to his family history. He cast longing glances at Eleanor, but she refused to take the hint conveyed, and, to his secret annoyance, walked out of the room shortly after.

Cynthia was having an animated conversation with Colonel Thornton and sipping her coffee when, happening to look in the direction of the hall door, she saw Eleanor standing there, beckoning to her. Making a hurried excuse to the Colonel, she joined Eleanor in the hall, who, without a word, slipped her arm about her waist and led her into the drawing-room.

"What is----?" The words died in her throat as she caught sight of a tall, soldierly figure standing under the chandelier. Eleanor discreetly vanished, closing the hall door softly behind her as she went.

"You!" Cynthia shrank back against the wall as Lane stepped forward.

"Cynthia, darling!" He held out his arms pleadingly, but with a moan she turned her face from him. His eyes flashed with indignation. "Cynthia, you have no right to condemn me unheard. I am innocent." He approached her and gently took her hand in his.

Her eyes were closed, and a few tears forced themselves under the lids, the scalding teardrops that come when the fountain is dry and only bitter grief forces such expression of sorrow.

"Dear one, look at me. I am not guilty. I have forced myself upon you because I want you to understand"--he spoke slowly, as if reasoning with a child--"that I am absolutely innocent...."

"Not in thought!" burst in Cynthia.

"Perhaps not,"--steadily,--"but in deed. I spoke in anger. Your uncle had insulted me grossly when I met him just before going to Mrs. Owen's dance, and in my indignation I uttered a wish which would have been better left unsaid. But listen to reason, dear; to think evil is not a crime."

Cynthia threw back her head and gazed at him wildly. "Oh, I would so gladly, gladly believe you innocent!" She placed her small, trembling hands on his breast. "It hurts horribly--because I love you so."

Lane caught her in a close embrace. "My darling--my dear, dear one----" His voice choked.

Cynthia lay passive in his arms. Suddenly she raised her white face and kissed him passionately, then thrust him from her. "Oh, God! why did you take that sharp letter file with you?"

"I didn't!" The words were positive, but his looks belied them.

"She says you did--she declares that when she met you looking for the carriage you held it in your hand----" The words seemed forced from Cynthia. She placed a hand on the chair nearest her as she swayed slightly.

"She! Who?" The question was almost a roar.

"Annette."