Rutledge lived bravely up to his ideas of what a proper pride demanded of him, but his assumption of indifference was sorely tried from their first meeting at Senator Ruffin’s. The mischief began with Elise’s offhand little discourse on the colour of eyes and hair as indicia of the traits and fates of lovers—particularly with her statement that a red-headed man will not take a woman’s "no" for an answer. The point in that which irritated the cuticle of Mr. Rutledge’s indifference was that Mr. Second Lieutenant Morgan had a head of flame. Now man—natural man—usually has the intelligence to know when a thing is beyond his reach, and the philosophy to content himself without it. He rejoices also in his neighbour’s successes. But natural man, with all his intelligence and all his philosophy and all his brotherly love, cannot look with patience or self-deceit upon another’s success or probable success where he himself, striving, has failed. In the whole realm of human experience there are exceptions to this rule perhaps; but in the tropical province of Love there is none. There a man may conclude that the woman he wants would not be good for him, even perforce may decide he loves her not: but the merest suggestion of another man as a probable winner will surely bring his decision up for review—and always to overrule it. So with Rutledge: from the moment of Elise’s unstudied remark he conceded to his own heart that his indifference was the veriest sham and pretence—while still a pretence necessary to his self-respect. *CHAPTER X* Hayward Graham, with an honourable discharge from the service of the United States buttoned up in his blouse, was taking a look at Washington before going back to re-enlist. He liked the army life, with all its restrictions; and having by his intelligence and aptitude attained the highest non-commissioned rank, he was optimistic enough to believe he could win a commission before another term of enlistment expired. In this hope he was not without a fair idea of the obstacle which his colour placed in the path of his ambition; but in weighing his chances he counted much on the friendliness of the newly inaugurated executive for the negro race generally, and most of all on the President’s according his deserts to a man who had saved his life. He would keep his identity in that respect a secret till the time was ripe, so that the President’s sense of obligation, if it existed, might not be dulled by the granting of any premature favours—and then he would see whether gratitude would make a man do justice. He had more than a month yet in which to re-enlist without loss of rank or pay, and his visit to Washington was intended to be short, as he had several other little picnics planned with which to fill out his vacation. He had been there ten days or more and he had walked and looked and lounged till he was thoroughly tired of the city and was decided to leave on the morrow.