storm of petitions, memorials, and resolutions. I expect to see them
come flying through the window, and I dream of nothing else."

Betty had taken part in the general conversation until the last few
moments, but as it concentrated on the subject of Cuban autonomy and
her guests ceased to appeal to her, she fell into conversation with
Senator North, who she knew would be willing to dispense with politics
for a few moments.

"You have no idea how I miss Jack Emory," she said. "He half lived
with us, you know, and I am always expecting to meet him in the hall.
When I was writing my invitations I caught myself beginning a note,
'Dear Jack.' It is uncanny."

"It is the only revenge the dead have; and doubtless it is this vivid
after life of theirs in memory that is at the root of the belief in
ghosts. You say that you are going to open your _salon_ every year
with a dinner to the original members. It will be interesting to watch
the two faces in some of the seats--if you attempt to fill the vacant
chairs."

Betty pressed her handkerchief against her lips, for she knew they had
turned white. She was but twenty-eight, and if her _salon_ was the
success it promised to be she would sit at the head of this table
for twenty-eight years to come, and then have compassed fewer years
than the man beside her. She had refused resolutely to permit her
thought to dwell on the tragic difference in their ages, a difference
that had no meaning now, but would symbolize death and desolation
hereafter; but her mind had moments of abrupt insight that no Will
could conquer, and not long since she had gasped and covered her face