They were together in the drawing-room on the second floor, for Theo preferred this room to all others. Its graceful beauty gave her pleasure and some measure of peace. It always seemed cool there, for its cypress-paneled walls were tinted pale blue, and gold brocade draperies softened the pitiless heat from five tall windows, while in the center of the ceiling hung a gigantic chandelier like a reversed fountain of crystal ice. It held twelve candles, and lighted, as they were now, they threw tiny jets of color through the sparkling prisms to the polished floor beneath.

Theo was bending over a small walnut desk, checking lists, her eyebrows puckered. She had not heard Joseph's remark. 'Father does not care for this type of Madeira,' she said. 'If this is all there is in the cellar here, we must order more'. She made a note.

Joseph was sprawling on a sofa, chewing the end of a cheroot, since he could not, of course, smoke in the drawingroom. He removed his cigar and frowned. 'That Madeira is good enough for my father, so I cannot sec why Colonel Burr should object to it.'

Theo looked up and smiled. 'Oh, Joseph, don't be out of temper. It's just that I wish everything to be perfect for Father. After all, he has never been South. I want him to see how well we live, what luxuries and elegance you provide for me.'

Joseph granted, replacing the cheroot.

'We must give a party for him,' she went on. 'Governor Drayton, the Richardsons, the Pinckneys, the Rutledges, they'll all be delighted to honor the Vice-President. How beautifully this room will lend itself to entertaining!' She saw it filled with brilliantly dressed guests, laughter, music, flowers, and Aaron in the midst of them standing against the black marble mantel charming them, investing the most trivial conversation with interest.

'You surely do not propose to appear in public at this time,' cried Joseph.

She flushed. For one blessed moment, she had indeed forgotten.

'I suppose the party must come afterward,' she said slowly. She put down her pen, pushed back the paper. Afterward. After this strange thing which has transformed my poor body shall be painfully wrested from me. After I shall be released and alone again. But how if there is no 'afterward'? If the shadows which are closing on me should at last forget to lift? What then? This room will be here just the same. There will be laughter and music and flowers in it just the same—for others, even perhaps after a while for Father.

'What is it, Theo?' Joseph hoisted himself from the sofa and strode over to her. 'Why do you look like that?'

'I'm frightened,' she said. 'Frightened.'

'Of your confinement?'

She nodded.