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“Send for my motor,” came the brief order.

“It is already at the door, Excellency.”

The Ambassador tossed his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair, and rose. “My hat and coat,” he directed, walking into the hall.

In a few minutes he stepped out into the vestibule and filled his lungs with the delicious breeze that fanned his cheeks. No trace of the heavy storm of the night before was in the air. The sky was blue, and the May sunshine lit up the budding trees and shrubs. The touch of spring and new-born life was everywhere. The Ambassador snapped off a spray of honeysuckle which grew along the fence protecting his parking from his neighbor’s, and tucked the spray in his buttonhole as he entered the waiting motor. “Drive to the club,” he directed briefly, as the car moved off.

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ELEANOR THORNTON turned in bed and stretched herself luxuriously. It was good to be young and to be sleepy. For a few seconds she dozed off again; then gradually awoke, and, too comfortable to move, let her thoughts wander where they would. In her mind’s eye she reviewed the events of the past months, and, despite herself, her lips parted in a happy smile. She had come to Washington in November to visit her friend, Cynthia Carew, and, delighted with the reception accorded her, had invited her cousin, Mrs. Gilbert Truxton, to chaperon her, and, on her acceptance, had rented a small furnished residence near Dupont Circle for the winter.