"No, Mademoiselle; she was up at six o'clock and had her breakfast at half-past seven." Annette paused in the act of laying out a supply of fresh _lingerie_. "What have the Americans on their conscience that they cannot sleep in the morning?" "You cannot complain of my early rising," laughed Eleanor, glancing at the clock, whose hands pointed to a quarter to twelve. "Ah, Mademoiselle, you have lived so long away from America that you have acquired our habits." "You may take the tray, Annette; I have even less appetite than usual to-day." Eleanor waited until it had been removed, then sprang out of bed. "Come back in fifteen minutes," she called. It did not take her long to complete her _toilette_, and when the maid returned she was seated before her dressing table. "What news to-day, Annette?" she asked, as the Frenchwoman, with skilful fingers, arranged her wavy hair, which fell far below her waist. "Madame and Fugi----" began the maid. "I don't want household details," broke in Eleanor impatiently. "Tell me of some outside news, if there is any." "Oh, indeed, yes; news the most startling. Senator Carew----" she paused to contemplate her handiwork. "Well, what about him?" inquired Eleanor listlessly. "He is dead." "Dead!" The handglass slipped from Eleanor's grasp and fell crashing to the hearth. Annette pounced upon it. "Oh, Mademoiselle, the glass is broken. _Quelle horreur!_" "Bother the glass." Eleanor's foot came down with an unmistakable stamp. "Tell me at once of Senator Carew's death. I cannot believe it!" "It is only too true," Annette was a privileged character and deeply resented being hurried, also her volatile French nature enjoyed creating a sensation. She had eagerly read the morning paper, and had refrained from telling Eleanor the news until she could get her undivided attention. "Senator Carew was found dead in his carriage early this morning on his return from the dance at Mrs. Owen's"--Annette had no reason to complain, Eleanor was giving her full attention to the story--"he had been stabbed." The maid's hand accidentally touched Eleanor's bare neck, and she felt the taut muscles quiver. Covertly she glanced into the mirror and studied the lovely face. But Eleanor's expression told her nothing. Her cheeks were colorless and her eyes downcast. After a barely perceptible pause Annette continued her story. "The coachman has been arrested----" a knock interrupted her and she hastened to open the door, returning in an instant with a note. "Fugi says the messenger boy is waiting for an answer, Mademoiselle." Eleanor tore it open and read the hastily scrawled lines. DEAR ELEANOR: I suppose you have been told of last night's terrible tragedy. Cynthia is prostrated. She begs pitifully to see you. Can you come to us for a few days? Your presence will help us both. Affectionately, CHARLOTTE WINTHROP.