not
believe--would not believe Lloyd's charge against Nancy. After all, she
was not the only girl, or woman, with red-gold hair in the world. Lloyd
had nothing to go upon but theories--no absolute proof--and an innocent
act might easily be construed into a guilty one by a suspicious mind.
Perhaps Lloyd's wish had proved father to the thought; he showed
extraordinary animosity toward Nancy. All the chivalry of his nature
revolted at the Secret Service officer's cold-blooded scheme to ensnare
her, and Goddard determined in his own mind she should have fair play.

"Are you a Washingtonian by birth, Miss Newton?" he inquired, as she
moved restlessly under his intent gaze.

"No, by adoption. I was born and raised in Richmond. I do not remember
my mother. She died when I was very young. After my father's death I
came north in charge of my black mammy, Aunt Polly, to live with Aunt
Metoaca. My dear father," Nancy's eyes filled with unbidden tears, and
she hastily tried to wink them away. "I wish you could have known each
other, Major. Dad's courtly greeting and warm heart won him so many,
many friends."

"I second the wish," said Goddard gently. "Pardon the question, but has
he been dead long?"

"Three years now; but time has not lessened my sorrow. We were all in
all to each other, notwithstanding I was his greatest disappointment."

"How so?"

"He wanted a son and heir; but I was his only child, the last of a long
line of fighting men. Dad was my constant companion as well as my
teacher," she sighed involuntarily. "I miss him more and more as the
years go on."

Goddard nodded sympathetically. "'Oh, for the touch of a vanished hand,
and the sound of a voice that is still,'" he quoted softly. Nancy
started, and, as her lips quivered, Goddard added more lightly, "I have
a fellow feeling with you, for I am an orphan, too, Miss Nancy; but I
cannot say I had so agreeable a guardian as you have."

"Aunt Metoaca has been both mother and father to me. Bless her dear
kind heart!" and Nancy glanced with deep affection at the nodding gray
head on the opposite seat. "She and Doctor John Boyd are the only
friends I have."

"Oh, come, you know you have legions of..."

"Of acquaintances--yes," interpolated Nancy swiftly. "It is my fault. I
do not make friends easily, and lately..."

"Yes, and lately?" asked Goddard, as she hesitated.

"I have noticed a change in my acquaintances. Oh, nothing tangible; but
there is a coolness