in such masterly fashion that every eye in
the room was upon them as they entered, and none could help noticing
that they came as an intimate pair--or at least the skilful lady made it
seem so.

These two were the last--all the members of the club and their guests
were already there, and despite the bond of fellowship and union among
them many eyebrows were lifted and some asides were spoken as Mrs.
Markham and Prescott arrived in this fashion.

Lucia Catherwood was present--Raymond had brought her--but she took no
notice, though her bearing was high and her colour brilliant. Some one
had prepared her for this evening with careful and loving hands--perhaps
it was Miss Grayson. All the minute touches that count for so much were
there, and in her eyes was some of the bold and reckless spirit that
Prescott himself had been feeling for the last day or two.

This little company had less of partisan rancour, less of sectional
feeling, than any other in Richmond, and that night they made the
beautiful Yankee their willing queen. She fell in with their spirit:
there was nothing that she did not share and lead. She improvised
rhymes, deciphered puzzles and prepared others of her own that rivaled
in ingenuity the best of Randolph or Caskie or Latham or McCarty or any
of the other clever leaders of this bright company. Prescott saw the wit
and beauty of Mrs. Markham pale before this brighter sun, and the
Secretary seemed to be the chosen favourite of Miss Catherwood. He
warmed under her favouring glance, and he, too, brought forth ample
measure from the store of his wit.

Harley was there in splendid uniform, as always, but somber and
brooding. Prescott clearly saw danger on the man's brow, but a threat,
even one unspoken, always served to arouse him, and he returned with
renewed devotion to Mrs. Markham. His growing dislike for Harley was
tinctured with a strain of contempt. He accused the man's vanity and
selfishness, but he forgot at the same moment that he was falling into
the same pit.

The men presently withdrew for a few moments into the next room, where
the host had prepared something to drink, and a good-natured, noisy
crowd was gathered around the table. The noisiest of them all was
Harley, whose manner was aggressive and whose face was inflamed, as if
he had made himself an undisputed champion at the bowl. The Secretary
was there, too, saying nothing, his thin lips wrinkled in a slight smile
of satisfaction. He wa