Thorndyke saw Crane's face grow a little pale, and he fell silent for a minute or two, and while Thorndyke was watching the current of his thought, as revealed by a singularly expressive and untrained countenance, Crane burst out:
"The best in the way of women I've seen yet is Constance Maitland—I wonder why she never married. She's nearer forty than thirty; that she told me herself."
It was now Thorndyke's turn to grow pale. Constance Maitland was responsible to a great degree for most that had happened to him for the last eighteen years, and in all that time he had not seen her once; but the mere mention of her name was enough to agitate him; and she was in Washington and he had not known it
It was a minute or two before he recovered himself and began to pull at the cigar in his mouth. Then he saw by Crane's face that Constance Maitland was something to him, too. Had the poor devil fallen in love with her as he had with Washington dinners? Thorndyke was disgusted with his friend, and showed it by saying, coldly:
"I knew Miss Maitland well some years ago. She
