of her way to view the ruins of the buildings set on fire by the
mob. She did pause to look at these ruins; the air of the
neighborhood still had a taint of burnt wood and paper.
Presently, when she was sure the street was clear of people of
the sort who might talk--she hastily entered the tiny front yard
of Victor's house, and was pleased to find herself immediately
screened from the street by the luxuriant bushes and creepers.

There was nothing in the least pretentious about the appearance
of the little house. It was simply a well built cottage--but of
brick, instead of the usual wood, and the slate roof descended at
attractive angles. The door she was facing was superior to the
usual flimsy-looking door. Indeed, she at once became conscious
of a highly attractive and most unexpected air of substantiality
and good taste. The people who lived here seemed to be permanent
people--long resident, and looking forward to long residence.
She had never seen such beautiful or such tastefully grouped sun
flowers, and the dahlias and marigolds were far above the
familiar commonplace kitchen garden flowers.

The door opened, and a handsome, extremely intelligent looking
woman, obviously Victor's sister, was looking pleasantly at her.
Said she: ``I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. But I was busy
in the kitchen. This is Miss Hastings, isn't it?''

``Yes,'' said Jane, smiling friendlily.

``I've heard my brother and Selma talk of you.'' (Jane wondered
WHAT they had said.) ``You wish to see Victor?''