"I don't think we have that kind," she ventured. "We have powdered sugar, and loaf sugar, and gran--granulated," she syllablized it, calling it "gran-u-lat-ed"--"and we have pulverized sugar, too. But I don't believe we have fig--the kind you said.... I'm sorry." He smiled a little--a smile of the lips. "It doesn't matter," he said, slowly. "Really it doesn't. You know I haven't had any for so long that I've quite forgotten the taste of it.... Where's daddy this morning?" "Daddy and mother dear are saying goodbye to Auntie," the child replied, making in the oatmeal before her a miniature Panama Canal and watching the thick cream trickle slowly from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Blake turned to the butler. "How is Mrs. VanVorst this morning, Roberts?" he asked. "Still very ill, sir," returned the butler. "Very ill indeed." "Not dangerously?" "We 'opes not, sir. But she's still very low, sir." Blake turned one fist in the palm of the other hand. "Why, I though from the wireless that Mr. Schuyler sent me that she was getting along splendidly. I--" He stopped, abruptly. There had entered the breakfast room the wife of John Schuyler. She saw Blake and came forward, hand outstretched, welcome in her eyes. She had come to be very like her child--her child and Schuyler's--had the daughter of Jimmy Blair--she was like her child grown up, glorified into womanhood. Her hair was the same gold-brown, a little unruly, clinging against her temples, nestling at neck-nape. Her eyes were the same deep violet--perhaps a little darker--a little softer--a little less wondering; for years bring knowledge, and when one begins to know, then one must cease, somewhat, to wonder. She had the soft, brown, sun-kissed cheeks of her child, too, rounded and smooth, with the red blood tinting them to a delicate pink. She had the finely-modelled, cleanly-cut nose, and the expressive, sensitive mouth with its red lips, and white teeth. And her chin was both beautiful and firm. She moved lithely across the room to where Blake stood. He took her hand. "Tom," she began, cordially. Her voice was low and deep, and very soft. "We're so glad to see you.... You got Jack's message, then? We were afraid you wouldn't." Blake nodded. "Caught it off Point Judith," he replied. "You should have seen us 'bout ship and come spattering down the Sound. Those blockade-running persons could have gained points from us We burned the bulwarks, the cargo and most of my cigars. It looks as though we did so wisely, too; for we haven't much time to spare, have we?" "We leave in half an hour," she returned. "Sit down, Tom.... Jack will be here soon." "But what's it all about?" he asked. He sank into a chair, elbows on knees, fingers clasped. "Jack's trip abroad?" He nodded. "It's something at the Court of St. James. I don't know exactly; but it's very imposing, and important, and epoch-making. Jack spent all day yesterday with the President and Secretary of State."