Prescott. "He's one of the cleverest men in
the South and we ought to have something good. He's just drawn from one
hat the words 'Daddy Longlegs' and from the other 'What sort of shoe was
made on the last of the Mohicans?' He says he doesn't ask to wait until
the next meeting, but he'll connect them extempore. Now we'll see what
he has made out of them."

Randolph bowed to the company with mock humility, folded his hands
across his breast and recited:

"Old Daddy Longlegs was a sinner hoary,
And punished for his wickedness according to the story;
Between him and the Indian shoes the likeness doth come in,
One made a mock o' virtue and one a moccasin."

He was interrupted by the entrance of a quiet little man, modestly clad
in a civilian's suit of dark cloth.

"Mr. Sefton," said some one, and immediately there was a halt in the
talk, followed by a hush of expectation. Prescott noticed with interest
that the company looked uncomfortable. The effect that Mr. Sefton
produced upon all was precisely the same as that which he had
experienced when with the Secretary.

Mr. Sefton was not abashed. He hurried up to the hostess and said:

"I hope I am not intrusive, Mrs. Markham, but I owed you a call, and I
did not know that your little club was in session. I shall go in a few
minutes."

Mrs. Markham pressed him to stay and become one of them for the evening,
and her manner had every appearance of warmth.

"She believes he came to spy upon us," said Raymond, "and I am not sure
myself that he didn't. He knew well enough the club was meeting here
to-night."

But the Secretary quickly lulled the feelings of doubt that existed in
the minds of the members of the Mosaic Club. He yielded readily to the
invitation of Mrs. Markham and then exerted himself to please, showing a
facile grace in manner and speech that soon made him a welcome guest. He
quickly drifted to the side of Miss Harley, and talked so well from the
rich store of his experience and knowledge that her ear was more for him
than for any other.

"Is Mr. Sefton a bachelor?" asked Prescott of Winthrop.

Winthrop looked at the young Captain and laughed.

"Are you, too, hit?" Winthrop asked. "You need not flush, man; I have
proposed to her myself three times and I've been rejected as often. I
expect to repeat the unhappy experience, as I am growing somewhat used
to it now and can stand it."

"But you have not answered my question: is the Secret