d to welcome the young
mistress to her own.

"Oh--and there's Missy!" she said, as an inquiring "meow!" sounded
close to her skirts. "You irresponsible little thing--I suppose
you have more kittens. Has she, Susan?"

"Five m'm," said Susan drily.

"Oh, dear, I suppose it can't be avoided. But we mustn't drown
any, you know." And with one hand resting on Colonel Arran's arm
she began a tour of the house to inspect the new improvements.

Later they sat together amid the faded splendours of the southern
drawing-room, where sunshine regilded cornice and pier glass,
turned the lace curtains to nets of gold, and streaked the red
damask hangings with slanting bars of fire.

Shiftless old Jonas shuffled in presently with the oval silver
tray, ancient decanters, and seedcakes.

And here, over their cakes and Madeira, she told him about her
month's visit to the Craigs'; about her life in the quaint and
quiet city, the restful, old-fashioned charm of the cultivated
circles on Columbia Heights and the Hill; the attractions of a
limited society, a little dull, a little prim, pedantic, perhaps
provincially simple, but a society caring for the best in art, in
music, in literature, instinctively recognising the best although
the best was nowhere common in the city.

She spoke of the agreeable people she had met--unobtrusive,
gentle-mannered folk whose homes may have lacked such Madeira and
silver as this, but lacked nothing in things of the mind.

She spoke of her very modest and temporary duties in church work
there, and in charities; told of the advent of the war news and its
effect on the sister city.

And at last, casually, but without embarrassment, she mentioned
Berkley.

Colonel Arran's large hand lay along the back of the Virginia sofa,
fingers restlessly tracing and retracing the carved foliations
supporting the horns of plenty. His heavy, highly coloured head
was lowered and turned aside a little as though to bring one ear to
bear on what she was saying.

"Mr. Berkley seems to be an--unusual man," she ventured. "Do you
happen to know him, Colonel Arran?"

"Slightly."

"Oh. Did you know his parents?"

"His mother."

"She is not living, I believe."

"No."

"Is his father living?"

"I--don't know."

"You never met him?"

Colonel Arran's forefinger slowly outlined the deeply carved horn
of plenty.

"I am not perfectly sure that I ever met Mr. Berkley's father."

She sat, elbows on the tabl