Thorndyke and Constance rose and walked away from the spot that had been only a little while ago so sweet and sunny.
"Why is it," asked Constance, as they followed the pathway leading out of the park, "a spring morning is the merriest thing in life, and a spring evening the saddest?"
"Why should anything be sad to you, spring evenings or any other times?" asked Thorndyke, quietly and with perfect sincerity.
"Why should any one be sad at all? Because we are human, I suppose," was Constance's answer to this.
As they came out upon the streets, which were less deserted than usual, Thorndyke looked toward the south wing of the Capitol. The flag was fluttering down from its flag-staff.
"The House has adjourned," he said, "and some history has been made to-day—likewise a great reputation for our friend Crane."
The brougham was driving up and down, and the coachman, perceiving the graceful black figure on the sidewalk, drove toward them. Thorndyke noted, with disgust, the elegance of the turnout—*
