er-cooler under the great window
across the room. Keeping her back resolutely towards the visitor, she
swallowed half a glass of water, then presently resumed her seat.
"Excuse me," she said. "I am ready now."

"You found the heat very trying, I fear," said the major. "Pray do not
attempt this if you are tired after your walk. It can wait as well as
not."

"It is something that doesn't have to be done to-day?" she asked,
looking quickly up.

"Certainly not, if the sun has been too much for you. Has it?"

No answer for a moment. "It isn't the sun," finally replied Miss Wallen,
"but I--should rather not take this."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER V.

That evening as Major Cranston was getting into uniform again and
pondering not a little over the odd behavior of Mr. Wells's
stenographer, the young lady in question, her day's library duties at an
end, was walking thoughtfully homeward. She chose a route that carried
her close to the dancing waters of the lake. It was a longer way, but
she loved it and the fresh, cool wind sweeping inland from the seemingly
boundless sheet of blue. She was a slender girl, rather above the medium
height, a girl with dark earnest eyes and heavy coils of brown, lustrous
hair, and a grave, sweet face, whereon already there were traced
indelibly lines that told of responsibility and work and care. She
dressed simply, inexpensively, yet with a certain style that well became
the willowy grace of her figure. She moved swiftly, but without apparent
effort. She walked well, bore herself well, and sped along on her
homeward way as though absorbed in her thoughts, except when
occasionally glancing out over the sparkling expanse to her right. Other
women, and nurse-maids with romping children, dawdled about the sunny
foot-path along the breakwater; Miss Wallen alone seemed walking with
definite purpose. Nearly opposite the Grant Memorial the roadway swept
close by the path, and here it became necessary for her to cross to the
western side. Carriages were rolling almost ceaselessly by, and, seeing
her waiting an opportunity, a Park policeman signalled to the drivers of
those nearest at hand and beckoned to the girl to come on. She obeyed,
somewhat timidly glancing about her. One carriage, drawn by spirited
bays, had too much headway, and was well upon the crossing before the
coachman could help it. It brought her almost face to face with the
occupants, and for an instant hid h