im purposely when she left the
train.

A porter took her hand-baggage and led her to the taxi-stand. Polly
Widdicombe's car was not waiting. Marie Louise went to the front of
the building to see if she might be there. She was appalled at the
thought of Polly's not meeting her. She needed her blessed giggle as
never before.

It was a very majestic station. Marie Louise had heard people say that
it was much too majestic for a railroad station. As if America did not
owe more to the iron god of the rails than to any of her other
deities!

Before her was the Capitol, lighted from below, its dome floating
cloudily above the white parapets as if mystically sustained. The
superb beauty of it clutched her throat. She wanted to do something
for it and all the holy ideals it symbolized.

Evidently Polly was not coming. The telegram had probably never
reached her. The porter asked her, "Was you thinkin' of a taxi?" and
she said, "Yes," only to realize that she had no address to give the
driver.

BOOK III

IN WASHINGTON

[Illustration: "'It's beautiful overhead if you're going that way,'"
Davidge quoted. He set out briskly, but Marie Louise hung back. "Aren't
you afraid to push on when you can't see where you're going?" she
demanded.]

CHAPTER I

She went through her hand-bag again, while the porter computed how
many tips he was missing and the cab-starter looked insufferable
things about womankind.

She asked if any of them knew where Grinden Hall might be, but they
shook their heads. She had a sudden happy idea. She would ask the
telephone Information for the number. She hurried to a booth, followed
by the despondent porter. She asked for Information and got her, but
that was all.

"Please give me the numba of Mrs. Widdicombe's, in Rosslyn."

A Washington dialect eventually told her that the number was a private
wire and could not be given.

Marie Louise implored a special dispensation, but it was against the
rules.

She asked for the supervisor--who was equally sorry and adamant. Marie
Louise left the booth in utter defeat. There was nothing to do but go
to a hotel till the morrow.

She recalled the stories of the hopelessness of getting a room. Yet
she had no choice but to make the try. She had got a seat on the train
where there were none. Perhaps she could trust her luck to provide her
with a lodging, too.

"We'll go back to the taxi-stand," she told the porter.

He did not conceal his