“Hush!” exclaimed Eleanor anxiously. “Here comes Captain Lane.”
Douglas scanned the tall young officer approaching them with keen interest. His uniform set off his fine figure to advantage, and his face was one to inspire confidence.
“How are you, Mrs. Truxton,” he said. “Miss Eleanor, I’ve been searching the place for you. Won’t you come and see the rose garden with me? Oh, I beg pardon, Colonel, I didn’t see you at first.”
“That’s all right, Lane. Have you met Mr. Hunter?”
“No. How do you do, sir.” Lane wrung Douglas’ hand. “Glad to know you.”
“It is time for us all to go,” declared Mrs. Truxton. “We must say good-bye. Come with me, Douglas, I want to ask you some questions about your family.”
As the small group strolled toward the White House, Colonel Thornton was buttonholed by an old friend. Mrs. Truxton, with Douglas in tow, crossed the ground to where the President was standing talking to several late arrivals.
“Now’s our time,” whispered Lane in Eleanor’s ear. “The rose garden is to our right.” He said no more until they had passed the south portico and walked down the path leading to the wonderful box hedges which surround the rose garden. They had the place to themselves, and Eleanor exclaimed with pleasure at the beautiful flowers which were blossoming in profusion.
“How is Cynthia?” demanded Lane, stopping in the middle of the garden path and regarding his companion intently.
“Almost a nervous wreck.”