asting or
lunching with me in Braska on your way," he said, hesitatingly. "They
tell me ladies often----"

"Well, we go direct. Ours is the through express, Mr. Langston," said
Mrs. Cranston, laughing, "and it's a hotel car we travel by. Braska is
some distance off the air line."

"Braska doesn't seem to have been in your line at any time," he said,
after a moment's pause. "I hear of frequent visits on the part of the
other ladies, many of them, but you never honor us."

"Oh, we sometimes go there for shopping."

"But to Cresswell's, I mean, for luncheon or supper. They say he gives
a very creditable spread, and as quite a number of the ladies go there
at times, and Willett and Burtis have a little party there to-night in
honor of some of your friends, I thought I might persuade you; but--of
course--if you do not go that way," he concluded, vaguely.

"No, thank you, Mr. Langston, we do not--go that way."

"But I shall see you, both, again before you start, I hope," he said,
addressing Mrs. Cranston, but palpably appealing to Miss Loomis in the
weakness of a strong man deeply in love.

"It will be a pleasure," said Margaret, cordially. She wished him to
come. She meant him to come. She saw and forgave the wandering eyes. He
might come any day he pleased before the 25th. There would still be a
box or a trunk for him to sit on; but now, she concluded, artfully, she
must get right back to the boys a minute. They were trying on some
clothes that had just come from home, and she'd return very soon. So
saying she vanished. It was half an hour before she reappeared, and
Langston was on his knees in the parlor--packing books. It was the
sweetest work he had known in years.

But when he was finally gone Margaret turned impulsively to Agatha. "Do
you think it possible that--that she _can_ be going there--with
him--to-night? No matter who else goes. She cannot realize what she's
doing. Would you go--should I go to see her?"

Miss Loomis stood at the window, leaning her forehead against the cold
pane and gazing silently out over the snowy expanse of the parade. "You
would be too late, Margaret," she answered, presently, and drew back
from the folds of the heavy curtain, and Mrs. Cranston seemed to read in
her companion's face what was coming along the road.

Two double sleighs drove briskly past the window. First came Stone's old
swan-head behind his sedate team of bays, but from a perfect nest of
robes and furs a gay pa