the tone of his voice.

"He is still attentive to Helen--in a way," she replied, "but the
Secretary is like many other men: he sees more than one beautiful flower
in the garden."

"What do you mean, mother?" asked Prescott quickly.

His face flushed suddenly and then turned pale. She gave him another
keen but covert look from under lowered eyelids.

"There's a new star in Richmond," she replied quietly, "and singular as
it may seem, it is a star of the North. You know Miss Charlotte Grayson
and her Northern sympathies: it is a relative of hers--a Miss
Catherwood, Miss Lucia Catherwood, who came to visit her shortly after
the battles in the Wilderness--the 'Beautiful Yankee,' they call her.
Her beauty, her grace and distinction of manner are so great that all
Richmond raves about her. She is modest and would remain in retirement,
but for the sake of her own peace and Miss Grayson's she has been
compelled to enter our social life here."

"And the Secretary?" said Prescott. He was now able to assume an air of
indifference.

"He warms himself at the flame and perhaps scorches himself, too, or it
may be that he wishes to make some one else jealous--Helen Harley, for
instance. I merely venture the suggestion; I do not pretend to know all
the secrets of the social life of Richmond."

Prescott went that very afternoon to the Grayson cottage, and he
prepared himself with the greatest care for his going. He felt a sudden
and strong anxiety about his clothing. His uniform was old, ragged and
stained, but he had a civilian suit of good quality.

"This dates from the fall of '60," he said, looking at it, "and that's
more than four years ago; but it's hard to keep the latest fashions in
Richmond now."

However, it was a vast improvement, and the change to civilian garb made
him feel like a man of peace once more.

He went into the street and found Richmond under the dim cold of a
November sky, distant houses melting into a gray blur and people
shivering as they passed. As he walked briskly along he heard behind him
the roll of carriage wheels, and when he glanced over his shoulder what
he beheld brought the red to his face.

Mr. Sefton was driving and Helen Harley sat beside him. On the rear seat
were Colonel Harley and Lucia Catherwood. As he looked the Secretary
turned back and said something in a laughing manner to Lucia, and she,
laughing in like fashion, replied. Prescott was too far away to
understand the words ev