MISS MITFORD’S INTERVENTION The Captain stared after her departing figure; he listened to her footfalls on the stair, and then came to an instant resolution. He would take advantage of her opportune withdrawal. He turned back to the table, seized his hat, and started for the door, only to come face to face with another charming young woman, who stood breathless before him to his great and ill-concealed annoyance. Yet the newcomer was pretty enough and young enough and sweet enough to give any man pause for the sheer pleasure of looking at her, to say nothing of speaking to her. The resources of an ancient wardrobe, that looked as though it had belonged to her great-grandmother, had been called upon for a costume which was quaint and old-fashioned and altogether lovely. She was evidently much younger than Edith Varney, perhaps just sixteen, Wilfred’s age. With outstretched arms she barred the door completely, and Thorne, of course, came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, good-evening,” she panted, as soon as she found speech; she had run without stopping from her house across the street. “Good-evening, Miss Mitford,” he answered, stepping to one side to let her pass, but through calculation or chance she kept her position at the door. “How lucky this is!” she continued. “You are the very person I wanted to see. Let’s sit down and then I’ll tell you all about it. Goodness me, I am all out of breath just running over from our house.” Thorne did not accept her invitation, but stood looking at her. An idea came to him. “Miss Mitford,” he said at last, stepping toward her, “will you do something for me?” “Of course I will.” “Thank you very much, indeed. Just tell Miss Varney when she comes down—just say good-night for me and tell her that I’ve gone.” “I wouldn’t do such a thing for the wide, wide world,” returned Caroline Mitford in pretended astonishment. “Why not?” “It would be a wicked, dreadful story, because you wouldn’t be gone.” “I am sorry you look at it that way,” said Thorne, “because I am going. Good-night, Miss Mitford.” But before he could leave the room, the girl, who was as light on her feet as a fairy, caught him by the arm. “No—you don’t seem to understand. I’ve got something to say to you.” “Yes, I know,” said Thorne; “but some other time.” “No, now.” Of course, he could have freed himself by the use of a little force, but such a thing was not to be thought of. Everything conspired to keep him when his duty called him away, he thought quickly. “There isn’t any other time,” said Caroline, “it is to-night. We are going to have a Starvation party.” “Good Heavens!” exclaimed Thorne; “another!” “Yes, we are.” “I can’t see how it concerns me.” “It is going to be over at our house, and we expect you in half an hour.” “I shouldn’t think you would want to play at this time.” “We are not going to play. We are going to make bandages and sandbags and——” “You won’t need me.”