involving us?" she asked. "Good afternoon, doctor," recollecting
her manners, and her attention thus diverted, she missed the sudden
questioning look which Mrs. Brewster and her father exchanged. "No,"
she continued, "Jimmie sacrificed himself for others."

"By becoming a burglar." McIntyre laughed shortly. "Don't talk
arrant nonsense, Helen."

The girl flushed at his tone, and Dr. Stone, an interested onlooker,
marveled at the fleeting flash of disdain which lighted her dark
eyes. Stone's interest grew. The McIntyre family had always been
particularly congenial, and the devotion of Colonel McIntyre (left
a widower when the twins were in short frocks) to his daughters had
been commented on frequently by their wide circle of friends in
Washington and by acquaintances made in their travels abroad.

Colonel McIntyre had married when quite a young man. Frugality and
industry and a brilliant mind had reaped their reward, and, wiser
than the majority of Americans, he retired early from business and
devoted himself to a life of leisure and the education of his
daughters. Their debut the previous autumn had been one of the
social events of the Washington season, and the instant popularity
the girls had attained proved a source of pride to Colonel McIntyre.
His chief pleasure consisted in gratifying their every whim, and
Dr. Stone, knowing the family as he did, wondered at the faintly
discernible air of constraint in the girl's manner. Usually frank
to a sometimes embarrassing degree, she appeared to some disadvantage
as she sat gazing moodily at the tips of her patent-leather pumps.
Dr. Stone's attention shifted to Colonel McIntyre and lastly to
the pretty widow at his elbow. Had Dame Rumor spoken truly in the