slouching figure and grimy duster of the driver, who occupied the other
half.

Mrs. Randolph gave a gritty laugh. "I thought you said she was alone. Is
that an escort she has picked up, American fashion, on the road?"

"That's her hired driver, no doubt. Hang it! she can't drive here by
herself," retorted the major, impatiently, hurrying to the door and down
the staircase. But he was instantly followed by his wife. She had no
idea of permitting a possible understanding to be exchanged in their
first greeting. The late M. l'Hommadieu had been able to impart a whole
plan of intrigue in a single word and glance.

Happily, Rose Mallory, already in the hall, in a few words detailed the
accident that had befallen her, to the honest sympathy of the major and
the coldly-polite concern of Mrs. Randolph, who, in deliberately chosen
sentences, managed to convey to the young girl the conviction that
accidents of any kind to young ladies were to be regarded as only
a shade removed from indiscretions. Rose was impressed, and even
flattered, by the fastidiousness of this foreign-appearing woman, and
after the fashion of youthful natures, accorded to her the respect due
to recognized authority. When to this authority, which was evident, she
added a depreciation of the major, I fear that some common instinct
of feminine tyranny responded in Rose's breast, and that on the very
threshold of the honest soldier's home she tacitly agreed with the wife
to look down upon him. Mrs. Randolph departed to inform her son and
daughter of their guest's arrival. As a matter of fact, however, they
had already observed her approach to the house through the slits of
their drawn window-blinds, and those even narrower prejudices and
limited comprehensions which their education had fostered. The girl,