“Mr. Crane,” announced Scipio Africanus, and Julian Crane walked in. Every man receives a shock when he finds he has interrupted a tête-à-tête, and Crane’s shock was augmented by finding that Thorndyke was the victim in the present case. Thorndyke had not said a word about going to see Miss Maitland, and Crane had meant to do a magnanimous thing by taking him there! And while outside the door he had heard Constance singing to the piano. She had never mentioned to him that she had such an accomplishment. Thorndyke behaved as men usually do under the circumstances. He spoke to Crane curtly, assumed an injured air, and took his leave promptly, as much as to say: “It is impossible for me to stand this man a moment.” Constance, womanlike, showed perfect composure and politeness, bade Thorndyke good-bye with a smile, and then, by an effort, brought herself to the contemplation of Julian Crane. She saw then that he was very pale, and the hand which he rested on the back of a chair was trembling. The first idea which occurred to her was that Crane had heard bad news; but she could not understand why he should come to her under the circumstances. Perhaps it was only nervousness, the relaxation after great tension. With this in mind, she said pleasantly, as they seated themselves: “So you waked this morning and found yourself famous.” “My speech appears to have been well received by the country,” replied Crane, in a strained voice, after a pause. “It is a pity Mrs. Crane was not present to enjoy your triumph,” she said. “Mrs. Crane does not care for politics,” replied Crane, still in a strange voice. “I cannot say that I am especially interested in politics,” replied Constance, “but I am interested in contemporary history of all sorts.” “And interested in your friends, Miss Maitland, when they are in public life.” “Extremely. I was at the House yesterday to hear you speak, and read your speech over again this morning in the Congressional Record.” “Which, no doubt, you received through Thorndyke,” Crane answered, pointedly, after a moment. Constance felt an inclination, as she often did, to get up and leave the room when Crane was talking with her. He had no reserves or restraints, and said just what was in his mind--a dangerous and alarming practice. She controlled herself, however, and looked closer at Crane. He was evidently deeply agitated, and Constance forbore the rebuke that she was ready to speak. Like a true woman, to feel sorry for a man was to forgive him everything. Suddenly Crane burst out: “Have you heard the news? Senator Brand--our junior Senator--was run over by a train at Baltimore this morning, and died within an hour.”