it was not far from midnight when they left the great white building on the hill. In spite of the engrossing matters which had employed them, both men had been haunted by the recollection of their conversation the night before, about Constance Maitland—but neither had spoken her name. Thorndyke said, as they came out on the deserted moonlit plaza:
"It's a pity Mrs. Crane can't be here to listen to you speak to-morrow."
"Yes," replied Crane, promptly. "But I have written her about it, and I shall send her a despatch as soon as I get through to-morrow. By the way, I sent Miss Maitland a ticket to the reserved gallery. I shall probably see her at the French Embassy, where I am going to take a look at the ball."
It was Crane's first invitation to the French Embassy, and he was slightly elated at it, and being unable to conceal anything, Thorndyke saw his elation. His only reply to Crane's important communication was, "Good-night—here's my car." And he jumped aboard the trailer just passing.
When he reached his own door he turned away from it. The night was growing more enchanting-
