ings he has done.
He holds more secrets than any other man in Europe--and you may be quite
sure that they will die with him. He will leave no memoirs to be poked
over by his enemies--no post-mortem confidences from him!"

The reader of the _Neue Freie Presse_, preparing to leave his table, tore
from the newspaper an article that seemed to have attracted him, placed
it in his card-case, and walked toward the door. The eyes of Arthur
Singleton lighted in recognition, and the attache, muttering an apology
to the Claibornes, addressed the young gentleman cordially.

"Why, Armitage, of all men!" and he rose, still facing the Claibornes,
with an air of embracing the young Americans in his greetings. He never
liked to lose an auditor; and he would, in no circumstances, miss a
chance to display the wide circumference of his acquaintance.

"Shirley--Miss Claiborne--allow me to present Mr. Armitage." The young
army officer and Armitage then shook hands, and the three men stood for a
moment, detained, it seemed, by the old attache, who had no engagement
for the next hour or two and resented the idea of being left alone.

"One always meets Armitage!" declared Singleton. "He knows our America as
well as we do--and very well indeed--for an Englishman."

Armitage bowed gravely.

"You make it necessary again for me to disavow any allegiance to the
powers that rule Great Britain. I'm really a fair sort of American--I
have sometimes told New York people all about--Colorado--Montana--New
Mexico!"

His voice and manner were those of a gentleman. His color, as Shirley
Claiborne now observed, was that of an outdoors man; she was familiar
with it in soldiers and sailors, and knew that it testified to a vigorous
and wholesome life.

"Of course you're not English!" exclaimed Singleton, annoyed as he
remembered, or thought he did, that Armitage had on some other occasion
made the same protest.

"I'm really getting sensitive about it," said Armitage, more to the
Claibornes than to Singleton. "But must we all be from somewhere? Is it
so melancholy a plight to be a man without a country?"

The mockery in his tone was belied by the good humor in his face; his
eyes caught Shirley's passingly, and she smiled at him--it seemed a
natural, a perfectly inevitable thing to do. She liked the kind tolerance
with which he suffered the babble of Arthur Singleton, whom some one had
called an international bore. The young man's dignity was only an
ex