own scheme. She made herself at home like one accustomed to quick
changes of scene. A woman of that sort travels round the globe with a
satchel, and dresses for the play with a ribbon and a comb, never
finding the horizon too large for personal comfort. Clearly she was
beloved in the Dillon circle, for they made much of her; but of course
that day not even the master of the house was a good second to Lord
Constantine. Anne moved about like herself in a dream. She was heavenly,
and Arthur enjoyed it, offering incense to His Lordship, and provoking
him into very English utterances. The young man's fault was that he rode
his hobby too hard.

"It's a shame, doncheknow," he cried as soon as he could decently get at
his favorite theme, "that the English-speaking peoples should be so
hopelessly divided just now----"

"Hold on, Lord Conny," interrupted Grahame, "you're talking Greek to
Dillon. Arthur, m'lud has a theory that the English-speaking peoples
should do something together, doncheknow, and the devil of it is to get
'em together, doncheknow."

They all laughed save Anne, who looked awful at this scandalous mimicry
of a personage, until His Lordship laughed too.

"You are only a journalist," said he gayly, "and talk like your journal.
As I was saying, we are divided at home, and here it is much worse. The
Irish here hate us worse than their brethren at home hate us,
doncheknow--thank you, Miss Ledwith, I really will not use that word
again--and all the races settled with you seem to dislike one another
extremely. In Canada it's no better, and sometimes I would despair
altogether, only a beginning must be made sometime; and I am really
doing very well among the Irish."

He looked towards Honora who smiled and turned again to Arthur with
those gracious eyes.

"I knew you would not forget it," she said. "The Washington pie in
itself would keep it in your mind. How I loved that pie, and every one
who gave me some. Your coming home must have been very wonderful to your
dear mother."

"More wonderful than I could make you understand," murmured Arthur. "Do
you know the old house is still in Madison street, where we played and
ate the pie?"

Louis put his head between them slyly and whispered:

"I can run over to the baker's if you wish and get a chunk of that
identical pie, if you're so in love with it, and we'll have the whole
scene over again."

No persuasion could induce the party to remain over night at the v