remember that we don't know
any one; and at our time of life, Oscar, one should be wary of making new
acquaintances."

He tossed his cloak over the saddle and walked toward the inn. The size
of the place and the great number of people going and coming surprised
him, but in the numbers he saw his own security, and he walked boldly up
the steps of the main hotel entrance. He stepped into the long corridor
of the inn, where many people lounged about, and heard with keen
satisfaction and relief the click of a telegraph instrument that seemed
at once to bring him into contact with the remote world. He filed his
telegrams and walked the length of the broad hall, his riding-crop under
his arm. The gay banter and laughter of a group of young men and women
just returned from a drive gave him a touch of heartache, for there was a
girl somewhere in the valley whom he had followed across the sea, and
these people were of her own world--they undoubtedly knew her; very
likely she came often to this huge caravansary and mingled with them.

At the entrance he passed Baron von Marhof, who, by reason of the death
of his royal chief, had taken a cottage at the Springs to emphasize his
abstention from the life of the capital. The Ambassador lifted his eyes
and bowed to Armitage, as he bowed to a great many young men whose names
he never remembered; but, oddly enough, the Baron paused, stared after
Armitage for a moment, then shook his head and walked on with knit brows.
Armitage had lifted his hat and passed out, tapping his leg with his
crop.

He walked toward the private houses that lay scattered over the valley
and along the gradual slope of the hills as though carelessly flung from
a dice box. Many of the places were handsome estates, with imposing
houses set amid beautiful gardens. Half a mile from the hotel he stopped
a passing negro to ask who owned a large house that stood well back from
the road. The man answered; he seemed anxious to impart further
information, and Armitage availed himself of the opportunity.

"How near is Judge Claiborne's place?" he asked.

The man pointed. It was the next house, on the right-hand side; and
Armitage smiled to himself and strolled on.

He looked down in a moment upon a pretty estate, distinguished by its
formal garden, but with the broad acres of a practical farm stretching
far out into the valley. The lawn terraces were green, broken only by
plots of spring flowers; the walks were walled