er return
home. But this time her dreams did not flow upon a smooth golden scented
tide. She searched the accumulated newspapers for mention of him in the
despatches, wept stormily at his neglect, tormented herself with the
belief that Julia Kaye was in Washington; at all events that he had
discovered that his love for herself was but one more passing fancy,
born of propinquity.

She saw mention of him. Twice he had dined at the White House, and his
name was frequently in the list of guests at other dinners and
functions. He was not visiting at the British Embassy, and Isabel drew
her only comfort from the fact: he might be enjoying himself too much to
think of her, but his purpose was unaltered, or he certainly would be
the guest of a man whom she knew to be his friend: Gwynne was the last
man to embarrass anybody, and if the ambassador had enemies they would
find his connivance at the Americanization of a useful British peer
vastly to his own discredit.

Isabel enjoyed no further peace of mind. The flames of uncertainty
devoured her. The worst she could endure, but suspense spurred her
always ardent imagination to such appalling feats that she barely ate or
slept. But she was far too high-handed to suffer actively for long. She
buried her pride in one of her many crypts, summoned her feminine craft,
and wrote Gwynne a letter. It began in the brief and business-like
manner the iniquities of their builders demanded--they were on
strike--and her facile pen flowed on with various other items of
information, more or less unpleasant. Mr. Clink, the lessee of Mountain
House, had absconded with all the furniture, including the doors and
windows, and she hesitated to refurnish, not knowing if Gwynne would
return in time for the salmon-fishing. Nor had she been able to find
another tenant, although she had spent two days in the mountains. She
thought it might be a good place for a sanitarium, if he were inclined
to form a company. Some sulphur springs had recently bubbled out of the
ground near the house, which would add to the value of the property; but
she must confess that they ruined the place for her. She distrusted the
sudden advent of mineral waters; one never knew what was coming next.
Then, after more cheering, but equally practical information, she
rambled off into gossip, told the sad story of the Coltons' bereavement,
and asked him a few friendly questions about himself. Of course he had
not succeeded in getting h