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“In with you,” laughed Lane, as his umbrella was almost dragged from his hand by the high wind. “Your wrap is too pretty to be ruined....” Cynthia was half lifted, half pushed inside the landau.... “Good night, my dearest.”

The door slammed shut; the horses, weary of long standing, started forward at the sound and raced around the corner into Massachusetts Avenue before the sleepy coachman could collect his wits.

Cynthia, on the point of seating herself, was flung toward the farther corner of the carriage by the sudden jerk. Instinctively she threw out her hand to steady herself, and her open palm encountered what was unmistakably a broad shoulder.

“Good gracious!” recoiling and collapsing sideways on the seat. “Philip! How you frightened me.”

Then she settled herself more comfortably and, with an effort, chatted on.

“The dance really was great fun, just our set you know, some of the Diplomatic Corps, and a number of the officers from the Barracks. I hated to leave so early,” regretfully, “but I promised Uncle James. Mrs. Owen asked particularly for you, and was greatly put out because you did not appear. Honestly, Philip, I am very tired of trying to explain your sudden aversion to society. Why do you shun your friends?”