f conspicuous more like," said Laura.
"He always, you have noticed, talks with one eye on the gallery, while
the other is on the speaker."

"Well, my husband says, its nonsense to talk of war, and wicked.
He knows what war is. If we do have war, I hope it will be for the
patriots of Cuba. Don't you think we want Cuba, Mr. Hawkins?"

"I think we want it bad," said Washington. "And Santo Domingo. Senator
Dilworthy says, we are bound to extend our religion over the isles of the
sea. We've got to round out our territory, and--"

Washington's further observations were broken off by Laura, who whisked
him off to another part of the room, and reminded him that they must make
their adieux.

"How stupid and tiresome these people are," she said. "Let's go."

They were turning to say good-by to the hostess, when Laura's attention
was arrested by the sight of a gentleman who was just speaking to Mrs.
Schoonmaker. For a second her heart stopped beating. He was a handsome
man of forty and perhaps more, with grayish hair and whiskers, and he
walked with a cane, as if he were slightly lame. He might be less than
forty, for his face was worn into hard lines, and he was pale.

No. It could not be, she said to herself. It is only a resemblance.
But as the gentleman turned and she saw his full face, Laura put out her
hand and clutched Washington's arm to prevent herself from falling.

Washington, who was not minding anything, as usual, looked 'round in
wonder. Laura's eyes were blazing fire and hatred; he had never seen her
look so before; and her face, was livid.

"Why, what is it, sis? Your face is as white as paper."

"It's he, it's he. Come, come," and she dragged him away.

"It's who?" asked Washington, when they had gained the carriage.

"It's nobody, it's nothing. Did I say he? I was faint with the heat.
Don't mention it. Don't you speak of it," she added earnestly, grasping
his arm.

When she had gained her room she went to the glass and saw a pallid and
haggard face.

"My God," she cried, "this will never do. I should have killed him, if I
could. The scoundrel still lives, and dares to come here. I ought to
kill him. He has no right to live. How I hate him. And yet I loved
him. Oh heavens, how I did love that man. And why didn't he kill me?
He might better. He did kill all that was good in me. Oh, but he shall
not escape. He shall not escape this time. He may have forgotten. He
will fi