The next morning she started for Washington, and it was a coincidence that one of the passengers going by the same coach was none other than Lettice’s former travelling companion, Mr. Francis Key, who at once recognized Miss Hopkins, but who had the discretion not to obtrude himself too frequently upon her attention, since it was evident to his perceptions that the young naval officer who devoted himself to the girl was quite able to entertain her. And though the way was long, the end of the journey did not seem greatly to be desired by either of the two. “Dear, oh me, Lettice, but I certainly am glad you have come,” Patsey said, as the two girls, with their arms around each other, and chattering as fast as their tongues could run, made haste to get to the refuge of Patsey’s room, after Lettice was landed on the doorstep of Mrs. Gittings’s house in Washington. “That is a fine new spark you had dancing attendance on you,” Patsey went on, when the two had seated themselves comfortably by a window overlooking the Potomac. “Is he not a good-looking fellow?” Lettice returned. “He is from Boston, yet he is as stanch a fighter and as eager for the war as any Marylander or Kentuckian.” “And you like him very much?” “Yes, but I hope not too much, for he joins his ship to-morrow, and I would not have my heart rent asunder should he never return.” Then, seeing the effect of her words, she threw her arms around Patsey. “Ah, Patsey dear, I should not have said that. I should have remembered. But no news is good news, they say; so do not let us look for the ill news that flies quickly.” The house where they were was on Capitol Hill, which neighborhood then represented about all there was of Washington. “I am glad you came to-day,” Patsey told her friend, “for this afternoon there is to be a fringe party at the Ingles.” “A fringe party?” “Yes, you know it is quite the fashion to meet around at each other’s houses and make fringe for the soldier’s epaulets. The government is too poor to buy it, and we can’t have our boys go without.” Patsey sighed, and Lettice knew of whom she was thinking. “You’ll be my cousin yet, Patsey,” she said, and Patsey gave her a grateful smile; but despite their girlish enthusiasm over Lettice’s arrival, each noted that the other looked sadder and was quieter than when they last met. “War is a dreadful thing,” said Patsey, shaking her head. “I never knew how dreadful till I came here to Washington and heard the talk that our brave men have been beaten and made prisoners, up there on the frontier, or have been massacred by Indians. I wish there were no war. I am patriotic, I hope, but I think the New Englanders are half right when they say, ‘Anything but war.’” “Even disgrace?” “Even disgrace; for we have had that, in spite of all our fighting.”