"Do you recognize this?"
"Yes," she said. "It is General Grant."
"It is a photograph of him, taken in Paris, which I received to-day. May I ask a favor of you?"
"What is it?" she said, shyly.
"Stop wearing those glasses. They are of no use to you, and they will injure your eyes."
Her face turned crimson. Without a word of reply she seized the glasses and put them on, her eyes flashing fire. She then rose and threw her shawl over her arm, and said, in a tone to which her repressed anger lent a real dignity:
"When can I learn about that place in the library?"
"Any time after Wednesday," Farnham answered.
She bowed and walked out of the room. She could not indulge in tragic strides, for her dress held her like a scabbard, giving her scarcely more freedom of movement than the high-born maidens of Carthage enjoyed, who wore gold fetters on their ankles until they were married. But in spite of all impediments her tall figure move