ght or present thought.

Prescott found her presence soothing; her quiet words smoothed away his
irritation, and gradually, without knowing why, he began to have a
better opinion of himself. He wondered at his own stupidity in not
having noticed before what an admirable woman was Mrs. Markham, how much
superior to others and how beautiful. He saw the unsurpassed curve of
her white arm where the sleeve fell back, and there were wonderful green
tints lurking in the depths of her eyes. After all, he could not blame
Harley--at least, for admiration.

They passed into one of the smaller rooms and Prescott's sense of
satisfaction increased. Here was one woman, and a woman of beauty and
wit, too, who could appreciate him. They sat unnoticed in a corner and
grew confidential. Once or twice she carelessly placed her hand upon his
coat sleeve, but let it rest there only for a moment, and on each
occasion he noticed that the hand and wrist were entirely worthy of the
arm. It was a small hand, but the fingers were long, tapering and very
white, each terminating in a rosy nail. Her face was close to his, and
now and then he felt her light breath on his cheek. A thrill ran through
his blood. It was very pleasant to sit in the smile of a witty and
beautiful woman.

He looked up; Lucia Catherwood was passing on the arm of a Confederate
general and for a moment her eyes flashed fire, but afterward became
cold and unmoved. Her face was blank as a stone as she moved on, while
Prescott sat red and confused. Mrs. Markham, seeming not to notice,
spoke of Miss Catherwood, and she did not make the mistake of
criticizing her.

"The 'Beautiful Yankee' deserves her name," she said. "I know of no
other woman who could become a veritable Helen of Troy if she would."

"If she would," repeated Prescott; "but will she?"

"That I do not know."

"But I know," said Prescott recklessly; "I think she will."

Mrs. Markham did not reply. She was still the sympathetic friend,
disagreeing just enough to incite triumphant and forgiving opposition.

"Even if she should, I do not know that I could wholly blame her," she
said. "I fancy that it is not easy for any woman of great beauty to
concentrate her whole devotion on one man. It must seem to her that she
is giving too much to an individual, however good he may be."

"Do you feel that way about it yourself, Mrs. Markham?"

"I said a woman of great beauty."

"It is the same."

Her serenity was no