persistent he is!"

"Where will you put up?" said Peter.

"We haven't decided. Where shall you stay?" she had the brutality to
ask.

"The President wants me with him, but I may go to a hotel. It leaves one
so much freer." Peter was a lawyer, and saw no need of committing
himself. "If I am there when you are, I can perhaps help you enjoy
yourself. I think I can get you a lunch at the White House, and, as I
know most of the officials, I have an open sesame to some other nice
things." Poor Peter! He was trying to tempt Leonore to tolerate his
company by offering attractions in connection therewith. A chromo with
the pound of tea. And this from the man who had thought flowers and
bon-bons bribery!

"Why does the President want to see you?"

"To talk politics."

"About the governorship?"

"Yes. Though we don't say so."

"Is it true, Peter, that you can decide who it is to be as the papers
say?"

"No, I would give twenty-five thousand dollars to-day if I could name
the Democratic nominee."

"Why?"

"Would you mind my not telling you?"

"Yes. I want to know. And you are to tell me," said her majesty, calmly.

"I will tell you, though it is a secret, if you will tell me a secret of
yours which I want to know."

"No," said Leonore. "I don't think that's necessary. You are to tell me
without making me promise anything." Leonore might deprecate a man's
falling in love with her, but she had no objection to the power and
perquisites it involved.

"Then I shan't tell you," said Peter, making a tremendous rally.

Leonore looked out from under her lashes to see just how much of Peter's
sudden firmness was real and how much pretence. Then she became
unconscious of his presence.

Peter said something.

Silence.

Peter said something else.

Silence.

"Are you really so anxious to know?" he asked, surrendering without
terms.

He had a glorious look at those glorious eyes. "Yes," said the dearest
of all mouths.

"The great panic," said Peter, "has led to the formation of a so-called
Labor party, and, from present indications, they are going to nominate a
bad man. Now, there is a great attempt on foot to get the Democratic
convention to endorse whomever the Labor party nominates."

"Who will that be?'"

"A Stephen Maguire."

"And you don't want him?"

"No. I have never crossed his path without finding him engaged in
something discreditable. But he's truckled himself into a kind of
popularity and power