son, I _thought_ he had gone abroad, but I most
assuredly did not say, nor infer, that he had _skipped_, nor connect
his going with Royster's failure!" Miss Cavendish responded. "If you
must say unjust and unkind things, don't make other people responsible
for them, please. Shoulder them yourself."

"Good girl!" muttered Macloud. "Hand him another!" Then he shot a look
at his friend.

"I don't mind," said Croyden. "They may think what they please--and
Mattison's venom is sprinkled so indiscriminately it doesn't hurt.
Everyone comes in for a dose."

They dallied through dinner, and finished at the same time as the
Westons. Croyden walked out with Miss Cavendish.

"I couldn't help overhearing that remark of Mattison's--the beggar
intended that I should," said he--"and I want to thank you, Elaine, for
your 'come back' at him."

"I'm sorry I didn't come back harder," said she.

"And if you prefer me not to go with you to the Hop to-night don't
hesitate to say so--I'll understand, perfectly. The Westons may have
got a wrong impression----"

"The Westons haven't ridden in the same motor, from Washington to
Annapolis, with Montecute for nothing; but I'll set you straight, never
fear. We are going over in the car--there is room for you both, and
Mrs. Weston expects you. We will be down at nine. It's the fashion to
go early, here, it seems."

Zimmerman was swinging his red-coated military band through a dreamy,
sensuous waltz, as they entered the gymnasium, where the Hops, at the
Naval Academy, are held. The bareness of the huge room was gone
entirely--concealed by flags and bunting, which hung in brilliant
festoons from the galleries and the roof. Myriads of variegated lights
flashed back the glitter of epaulet and the gleam of white shoulders,
with, here and there, the black of the civilian looking strangely
incongruous amid the throng that danced itself into a very kaleidoscope
of color.

The Secretary was a very ordinary man, who had a place in the Cabinet
as a reward for political deeds done, and to be done. He represented a
State machine, nothing more. Quality, temperament, fitness, poise had
nothing to do with his selection. His wife was his equivalent, though,
superficially, she appeared to better advantage, thanks to a Parisian
modiste with exquisite taste, and her fond husband's bottomless bank
account.

Having passed the receiving line, the Westons held a small reception of
their own. The Admiral was sti