LITMIR.BIZ

      "Don't you find it very warm to-day, Mr. Hawkins?" said Blanche, by way of a remark.

      "It's awful hot," said Washington.

      "It's warm for the season," continued Blanche pleasantly. "But I suppose you are accustomed to it," she added, with a general idea that the thermometer always stands at 90 deg. in all parts of the late slave states. "Washington weather generally cannot be very congenial to you?"

      "It's congenial," said Washington brightening up, "when it's not congealed."

      "That's very good. Did you hear, Grace, Mr. Hawkins says it's congenial when it's not congealed."

      "What is, dear?" said Grace, who was talking with Laura.

      The conversation was now finely under way. Washington launched out an observation of his own.

      "Did you see those Japs, Miss Leavitt?"

      "Oh, yes, aren't they queer. But so high-bred, so picturesque. Do you think that color makes any difference, Mr. Hawkins? I used to be so prejudiced against color."

      "Did you? I never was. I used to think my old mammy was handsome."

      "How interesting your life must have been! I should like to hear about it."

      Washington was about settling himself into his narrative style, when Mrs. Gen. McFingal caught his eye.

      "Have you been at the Capitol to-day, Mr. Hawkins?"

      Washington had not. "Is anything uncommon going on?"

      "They say it was very exciting. The Alabama business you know. Gen. Sutler, of Massachusetts, defied England, and they say he wants war."

      "He wants to make himself 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 find that a woman's hate doesn't forget. The law? What would the law do but protect him and make me an outcast? How all Washington would gather up its virtuous skirts and avoid me, if it knew. I wonder if he hates me as I do him?"

      So Laura raved, in tears and in rage by turns, tossed in a tumult of passion, which she gave way to with little effort to control.

      A servant came to summon her to dinner. She had a headache. The hour came for the President's reception. She had a raving headache, and the Senator must go without her.

      That night of agony was like another night she recalled. How vividly it all came back to her. And at that time she remembered she thought she might be mistaken. He might come back to her. Perhaps he loved her, a little,

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