if she would. He
was glad of his decision a few minutes later, when he saw a new figure
approaching.

The new arrival was Mr. Sefton, a fur-lined cloak drawn high around his
neck and his face as usual bland and smiling. He nodded to Prescott and
then looked at Miss Grayson, but for the moment said nothing, standing
by as if he preferred to wait for whatever he had in mind.

Miss Grayson finished her purchases, and drawing her purse took forth
the money for payment. A yellow gleam caught Prescott's eye and he
recognized one of his double eagles. The knowledge sent a thrill through
him, but he still stood in silence, glancing casually about him and
waiting for one of the others to speak first.

Miss Grayson received her change and her packages and turned to go away,
when she was interrupted by the Secretary, with no expression whatever
showing through his blandness and his smiles.

"It is Miss Grayson, is it not?" he said smoothly.

She turned upon him a cold and inquiring look.

"I am Mr. Sefton of the Treasurer's office," he said in the same even
tones--smooth with the smoothness of metal. "Perhaps it is too much to
hope that you have heard of me."

"I have heard of you," she said with increasing coldness.

"And I of you," he continued. "Who in Richmond has not heard of Miss
Charlotte Grayson, the gallant champion of the Northern Cause and of the
Union of the States forever? I do not speak invidiously. On the
contrary, I honour you; from my heart I do, Miss Grayson. Any woman who
has the courage amid a hostile population to cling to what she believes
is the right, even if it be the wrong, is entitled to our homage and
respect."

He made a bow, not too low, then raised his hand in a detaining gesture
when Miss Grayson turned to go.

"You are more fortunate than we--we who are in our own house--Miss
Grayson," he said. "You pay in gold and with a large gold piece, too.
Excuse me, but I could not help noticing."

Prescott saw a quiver on her lips and a sudden look of terror in her
eyes; but both disappeared instantly and her features remained rigid and
haughty.

"Mr. Sefton," she said icily, "I am a woman, alone in the world and, as
you say, amid a hostile population; but my private affairs are my own."

There was no change in the Secretary's countenance; he was still bland,
smiling, purring like a cat.

"Your private affairs, Miss Grayson," he said, "of course! None would
think of questioning that statem