She laughs. Indeed, it is one of her charming ways that she laughs at everything that can be possibly laughed at, and since her laugh is most musical, and her teeth twin rows of pearls, we can excuse her--ah, how much nonsense we pardon to youth and beauty! "Ah, by the way," (this favorite formula), "talking of Conway reminds me of my friend, Winans--in the Senate, you know. A strange affair that of his child--don't you think so?" She is busy fighting the wind, that blows the long loose strands of her solitary brown ringlet all over her pink cheeks, and turns half-way to him, the sunny smile utterly forsaking her lip, answering vaguely and in some surprise: "What about it? I have heard nothing." "Have not?--ah!" as they turn a corner and come upon a lovely view of the noble Potomac. "There you have a fine view, Miss Clendenon." She looks mechanically. "Yes, it is grand, but--but what did you say about the child of Senator Winans?" "Ah, yes, I was going to tell you, I had not forgotten," he smiled. "Why, it seems that his wife was in the city, and he called on her last evening at the hotel where she is stopping--he told me, poor fellow, in confidence that they parted more bitterly alienated than before. I blame him, though, the most. I know his hot temper, you see, Miss Lulu--and he desired her to send the child and nurse around to his hotel this morning, that he might see as much as possible of the child before she returned to Norfolk, as she designed doing to-day." "Well?" she breathes eagerly. She is twisting the wayward ringlet round and round one taper finger and listening with absorbing interest as he goes on. "Well, Norah O'Neil, the nurse, took the child very punctually to its father at ten o'clock this morning. He received them in his private parlor that opened on a long handsome hall, where similar parlors opened in a similar manner. And--but this cannot be interesting to you, Miss Clendenon, since you do not know the parties." "On the contrary, I am deeply interested," she said. "Go on if you please." "Well, it seems that Winans kept the little thing so long with him that it began to grow hungry and fretful. Winans suggested that Norah, the nurse, you know, should go down to the lower regions of the hotel and bring up some warm milk and crackers for the hungry child. She went, attended by a waiter Winans summoned for the purpose, and remained some time--ah! Miss Clendenon, here we are on Prospect Hill with a charming sea-view before us--and there--you see that romantic-looking cottage not a stone's throw from us--that is the home of the well-known novelist, Mrs. Southworth." "Ah!" she said, brightly, turning a look of deep interest at the spot. "But about the child--what happened while the nurse was gone?"