neat and
generally shipshape as to be fit--for only the daintiest and most
discriminating feminine occupation. The house was small, and its
metamorphosis from a plain wooden farm-house had been an achievement that
excited general admiration. Porches had been added, and a coat of
spotless white relieved by an orange striping so original that many
envied, but none dared to copy it. The striping went around the white
chimneys, along the cornice, under the windows and on the railings of the
porch: there were window boxes gay with geraniums and abundant awnings
striped white and red, to match the flowers: a high, formal hemlock hedge
hid the house from the road, through which entered a blue-stone drive
that cut the close-cropped lawn and made a circle to the doorway. Under
the great maples on the lawn were a tea-table, rugs, and wicker chairs,
and the house itself was furnished by a variety of things of a design not
to be bought in the United States of America: desks, photograph frames,
writing-sets, clocks, paperknives, flower baskets, magazine racks,
cigarette boxes, and dozens of other articles for the duplicates of which
one might have searched Fifth Avenue in vain.

Mr. Crewe was a little late. Important matters, he said, had detained him
at the last moment, and he particularly enjoined Mrs. Pomfret's butler to
listen carefully for the telephone, and twice during lunch it was
announced that Mr. Crewe was wanted. At first he was preoccupied, and
answered absently across the table the questions of the Englishman and
the Austrian about American politics, and talked to the lady of social
prominence on his right not at all; nor to Mrs. Pomfret'--who excused
him. Being a lady of discerning qualities, however, the hostess remarked
that Mr. Crewe's eyes wandered more than once to the far end of the oval
table, where Victoria sat, and even Mrs. Pomfret could not deny the
attraction. Victoria wore a filmy gown of mauve that infinitely became
her, and a shadowy hat which, in the semi-darkness of the dining room,
was a wondrous setting for her shapely head. Twice she caught Mr. Crewe's
look upon her and returned it amusedly from under her lashes,--and once
he could have sworn that she winked perceptibly. What fires she kindled
in his deep nature it is impossible to say.

She had kindled other fires at her side. The tall young Englishman had
lost interest in American politics, had turned his back upon poor Alice
Pomfret, and had fo