her lap. It seemed a profanation
to applaud.

Haney gloomed in silence also, but not for the same reason. "I might
have sung like that once," he thought, for he had been choir-boy in his
ragamuffin youth, and had regained a fine tenor voice at eighteen. Age
and neglect had ruined it, however. For ten years he had not attempted
to sing a note. This youth made him dream of the past--as it caused
Bertha to forecast the future.

While young Fordyce was putting away his music the Captain struggled to
his feet, and Bertha, seeing a sudden paleness overspread his face,
hastened to him.

"I reckon we'd better be going," she said to Mrs. Congdon, with blunt
directness.

"It's early yet," replied her hostess.

Haney replied: "Not for cripples. Time was when I could sit all night in
the 'lookout's chair,' but not now. Ten o'clock finds me wishful towards
the bed." He said this with a faint smile. But the pathos of it, the
truth of it, went to Bertha's heart, as it did to Mrs. Congdon's. Not
merely was his body maimed, but his mind had correspondingly been
weakened by that tearing charge of shot.

Something of his native Celtic gallantry came back to him as he said:
"Sure, Mrs. Congdon, we've had a fine evening. You must come to see us
soon."

Ben was addressing himself to Bertha. "Do you ever ride?"

"I used to--I don't now. You see, the Captain can't stand the jolt of a
horse, so we mostly drive."

"I was about to say that Alice and I would be glad to have you join us.
We ride every morning--a very gentle pace, I assure you, for I'm no
rough-rider, and, besides, she sets the pace."

Bertha's face was pale and her eyes darkly luminous as she falteringly
answered. "I'd like to--but--Perhaps I can some time. I'm much obliged,"
and then she gave him her hand in parting.

Mrs. Congdon was subtly moved by something in the girl's face as she
said good-night, and to her invitation to come and see her cordially
responded: "I certainly shall do so."

* * * * *

Little Mrs. Haney rode away from her first dinner party in the silence
of one whose thoughts are too swift and too new to find speech. Her
brain, sensitive as that of a babe, had caught and ineffaceably retained
a million impressions which were to influence all her after life. The
most vivid and most powerful of these impressions rose from the glowing
beauty of young Fordyce, whose like she had never seen; but as
background to him wa