he other side of the car, laughing, frowning, or chattering with
Roger.

"And that poor child has the management of it all?" he said at last, in
a tone which did him credit. He himself had lost an only daughter at
twenty-one, and he held old-fashioned views as to the helplessness of
women.

But Cecilia Boyson again misunderstood him.

"Oh, yes!" she said, with a cool smile. "Everything is in her own
hands--everything! Mrs. Phillips would not dare to interfere. Daphne
always has her own way."

The General said no more. Cecilia Boyson looked out of the window at the
darkening landscape, thinking with malice of Daphne's dealings with the
male sex. It had been a Sleeping Beauty story so far. Treasure for the
winning--a thorn hedge--and slain lovers! The handsome Englishman would
try it next, no doubt. All young Englishmen, according to her, were on
the look-out for American heiresses. Music teacher indeed! She would
have given a good deal to hear the conversation of the uncle and nephew
when the party broke up.

The General and young Barnes made their farewells at the railway
station, and took their way on foot to their hotel. Washington was
steeped in sunset. The White House, as they passed it, glowed amid its
quiet trees. Lafayette Square, with its fountains and statues, its white
and pink magnolias, its strolling, chatting crowd, the fronts of the
houses, the long vistas of tree-lined avenues, the street cars, the
houses, the motors, all the openings and distances of the beautiful,
leisurely place--they saw them rosily transfigured under a departing
sun, which throughout the day had been weaving the quick spells of a
southern spring.

"Jolly weather!" said Roger, looking about him. "And a very nice
afternoon. How long are you staying here, Uncle Archie?"

"I ought to be off at the end of the week; and of course you want to get
back to New York? I say, you seemed to be getting on with that young
lady?"

The General turned a rather troubled eye upon his companion.

"She wasn't bad fun," said the young man graciously; "but rather an odd
little thing! We quarrelled about every conceivable subject. And it's
queer how much that kind of girl seems to go about in America. She goes
everywhere and knows everything. I wonder how she manages it."

"What kind of girl do you suppose she is?" asked the General, stopping
suddenly in the middle of Lafayette Square.

"She told me she taught singing," said Roger, in a puzzled