The President's levee was better attended than usual; that is to
say, there was not even room on the stairs, and America's first-
born, as per election, had long ago lost all feeling in the digits
of his right hand.

Caleb S. Harkness was moving about in the quieter rooms, awaiting
the great crush, when a lady and a man entered and looked around
them with some amusement.

"Lord!" ejaculated Admiral Harkness, when his slow and mournful eyes
rested on the lady. The exclamation, if profane, was justified, for
it is probable that the American had never before set eyes on such a
masterpiece of the Creator's power. There was in this woman's
being--in her eyes, her face, her every movement--that combination
of nonchalance and dignity which comes to beautiful and bright-
minded girls when they are beginning to leave girlhood behind them.
She was moderately tall, with hair of living brown, and deep blue
eyes full of life and sweetness. She was not slim, but held herself
like a boy with the strength that comes of perfect proportion. She
was one of those women who set a soldier or a sailor thinking what
manner of men her brothers must be.

Caleb Harkness observed all this with the unobtrusive scrutiny of
his nation. He was standing near a curtained doorway buttoning his
glove, and some one coming behind him pushed against him.

"Beg pardon, Harkness," said a voice, and the Chief Secretary of the
English Legation patted him on the shoulder. "Didn't see you.
Looking for some one. By George, what a heat! Ah! there he is--
thank goodness!"