"Here she is. Grinden Hall is what she says on that theah sign-bode." Marie Louise was in a flutter. "What time is it?" she asked. Davidge held his watch up and lighted a match. "A little after one." "It's awfully late," she said. The car was turning at right angles now, and following a narrow track curling through a lawn studded with shrubbery. There was a moment's view of all Washington beyond the valley of the moon-illumined river. Its lights gleamed in a patient vigilance. It had the look of the holy city that it is. The Capitol was like a mosque in Mecca, the Mecca of the faithful who believe in freedom and equality. The Washington Monument, picked out from the dark by a search-light, was a lofty steeple in a dream-world. Davidge caught a quick breath of piety and reverence. Marie Louise was too frightened by her own destiny to think of the world's anxieties. The car raced round the circular road. Her eyes were snatched from the drowsy town, small with distance, to the imminent majesty of a great Colonial portico with columns tall and stately and white, a temple of Parthenonian dignity in the radiance of the priestly moon. There was not a light in any window, no sign of life. The car stopped. But-- Marie Louise simply dared not face Polly and risk a scene in the presence of Davidge. She tapped on the glass and motioned the driver to go on. He could not believe her gestures. She leaned out and whispered: "Go on--go on! I'll not stop!" Davidge was puzzled, but he said nothing; and Marie Louise made no explanation till they were outside again, and then she said: "Do you think I'm insane?" "This is not my party," he said. She tried to explain: "There wasn't a light to be seen. They couldn't have got my telegram. They weren't expecting me. They may not have been at home. I hadn't the courage to stop and wake the house." That was not her real reason, but Davidge asked for no other. If he noted that she was strangely excited over a trifle like getting a few servants and a hostess out of bed, he made no comment. When she pleaded, "Do you mind if I go back to Washington with you?" he chuckled: "It's certainly better than going alone. But what will you do when you get there?" "I'll go to the railroad station and sit up," Marie Louise announced. "I'm no end sorry to have been such a nuisance." "Nuisance!" he protested, and left his intonation to convey all the compliments he dared not utter. The cab dived into another woods and ran clattering down a roving hill road. Up the opposite steep it went with a weary gait. It crawled to the top with turtle-like labor. Davidge knew the symptoms, and he frowned in the shadow, yet smiled a little. The car went banging down, held by a squealing brake. The light grew faint, and in the glimmer there was a close shave at the edge of a hazardous bridge over a deep, deep ravine. The cab rolled forward on the rough planks under its impetus, but it picked up no speed. Half-way across, it stopped.