desirable, for any charge made against a politician in this country has
a peculiar vitality and persistence. She had been told that Peter was an
open supporter of saloons, and that New York politics battened on all
forms of vice. So a favorite son could hardly have retained the purity
that women take as a standard of measurement. "Don't you find ward
politics very hard?" she asked, dropping an experimental plummet, to see
what depths of iniquity there might be.

"I haven't yet."

"But that kind of politics must be very disagreeable to gentlemen. The
men must have such dirty hands!"

"It's not the dirty hands which make American politics disagreeable.
It's the dirty consciences."

"Are--are politics so corrupt and immoral?"

"Politics are what the people make them."

"Really?"

"I suppose your life has not been of a kind to make you very familiar
with it all. Tell me what these long years have brought you?"

"Perfect happiness! Oh, Mr. Stirling--may I call you Peter?--thank you.
Peter, I have the finest, noblest husband that ever lived! He is
everything that is good and kind!" Mrs. D'Alloi's face lighted up with
happiness and tenderness.

"And your children?"

"We have only one. The sweetest, loveliest child you can imagine."

"Fie, fie, Rosebud," cried a voice from the doorway. "You shouldn't
speak of yourself so, even if it is the truth. Leave that to me. How are
you, Peter, old fellow? I'd apologize for keeping you waiting, but if
you've had Helen, there's no occasion. Isn't it Boileau who said that:
'The best thing about many a man is his wife'?"

Mrs. D'Alloi beamed, but said, "It isn't so, Peter. He's much better
than I."

Watts laughed. "You'll have to excuse this, old man. Will happen
sometimes, even in the properest of families, if one marries an angel."

"There, you see," said Mrs. D'Alloi. "He just spoils me, Peter."

"And she thrives on it, doesn't she, Peter?" said Watts. "Isn't she
prettier even than she was in the old days?"

Mrs. D'Alloi colored with pleasure, even while saying: "Now, Watts dear,
I won't swallow such palpable flattery. There's one kiss for it--Peter
won't mind--and now I know you two want to talk old times, so I'll leave
you together. Good-bye, Peter--or rather _au revoir_--for you must be a
regular visitor now. Watts, arrange with Peter to dine with us some day
this week."

Mrs. D'Alloi disappeared through the doorway. Peter's pulse did not
change a beat.