The two men then began to talk about the political situation generally, and Thorndyke noticed in Crane an exultant spirit, a disposition to brag which had been absent in him at the time of his first rise into prominence, when it might have been expected to develop. The truth was that Crane found the only solace for his moral lapses lay in contemplating the splendid prizes which Sanders had dangled before his eyes. He had come to believe that some of these splendid prizes must be his; it was incredible that he should not receive the price for which he had sold his honour. And as the case always is, whether a man is or is not wholly bad, Crane promised himself at some future time, when he had garnered all the fruits of his wrong-doing, to lead a life of perfect rectitude. Then they came to the street corner where their paths diverged, and Thorndyke said at parting: “Please give my warmest regards to Mrs. Crane, and tell her I mean to presume upon her past kindness to me and call to see her in the evening.” “Have you seen Miss Maitland?” asked Crane. “No,” replied Thorndyke, who had just proclaimed himself a man of truth. He had not, indeed, seen Constance to speak to her, but the night before, within two hours of his arrival, when he had gone out to smoke his after-dinner cigar, he had sneaked up to her house, and had watched her as she passed to and fro before the lighted windows of the drawing-room. Crane went upon his way gloomily, turning over in his mind his conversation with Thorndyke, and all the difficulties of his situation, which were accentuated by his being in Washington. The strong fancy which Senator Bicknell had taken to Annette made everything harder. It seemed as if all those things which might be reckoned an unmixed good for an honest man were a burden and a perplexity to him, Julian Crane. Thinking these uncomfortable thoughts, he found himself at the entrance to the big apartment house, and went to his own quarters.