she was being followed, but she went into a large department store, and
spent considerable time in matching some half-dozen shades of ribbon. On
the way out she stepped into a telephone booth, and directed the
dispatcher at the Chateau to send a taxi to Brentano's for Mrs.
Williams. By the time she had leisurely crossed the street the taxi was
there; getting in, she gave the order to drive to Union Station by way
of Sixteenth Street and Massachusetts Avenue. As she passed the Chateau,
she saw Mrs. Clephane and Harleston coming out; a bit farther on they
shot by in a spanking car.

She drew back to avoid recognition; but they were too much occupied with
each other, she observed, even to notice the occupant of the humble but
high-priced taxi. At Scott Circle their car swung westward and
disappeared down Massachusetts Avenue; she turned eastward, toward
tomorrow's rising sun, Union Station, and the rendezvous--with hate in
her heart for the woman who had displaced her, and a firm resolve to
square accounts at the first opportunity. Mrs. Clephane might be
innocent, likely was innocent of any intention to come between Harleston
and her, but that did not relieve Mrs. Clephane from punishment, nor
herself from the chagrin of defeat and the sorrow of blasted hopes. The
balance was against her; and, be it man or woman, she always tried to
balance up promptly and a little more--when the balancing did not
interfere with the business on which she was employed. Madeline
Spencer, for one of her sort, was exceptional in this: she always kept
faith with the hand that paid her.

At Union Station she dismissed the taxi and walked briskly to the huge
waiting-room. There she dropped the briskness, and went leisurely down
its long length to the drug stand, where she bought a few stamps and
then passed out through the middle aisle to the train shed, inquiring on