he physical attractions of
youth. Albee, though he had been a fine-looking man once and still had a
certain magnificent leonine appearance, was over fifty and showed his
years. He had come to New York to conduct an important Federal
investigation, and the masterly manner in which he was doing it led to
presidential prophecies. Lydia's friends were beginning to murmur that
it would be just like Lydia to end in the White House. Besides, the
governor was rich, the owner of silver mines and a widower. It was
noticed that Lydia was more respectful to him than she had ever been to
anyone, followed his lead intellectually, and quoted him to the verge of
being comic.

"It is painful to me," Eleanor said, "to watch the process of Lydia's
discovering politics. Last Monday the existence of the Federal
constitution dawned upon her, and next week states' rights may emerge."

It was equally painful to the governor's old friends to watch the even
less graceful process of his discovery of social life. The two friends
adventured mutually. If Lydia sat all day listening to his
investigation, he appeared hardly less regularly in her opera box.

Oddly enough, they had met at a prison-reform luncheon given by the same
noble women whose presence at her house had so much irritated Lydia. The
object of the luncheon was to advertise the cause, to inspire workers,
to raise money. Albee was the principal speaker, not because he had any
special interest in prison reform, but because he was the most
conspicuous public figure in New York at the moment, and as he was known
not to be an orator, everyone was eager to hear him speak. Mrs. Galton,
the chairman of the meeting, was shocked by his reactionary views on
prisons when he expounded them to her in an attempt to evade her
invitation; but with the sound worldliness which every reformer must
acquire she knew that his name was far more important to her cause than
his views, and with a little judicious flattery she roped him into
promising he would come and say a few words--not, he specially insisted,
a speech. Mrs. Galton agreed, knowing that no speaker in the world,
certainly no masculine speaker, could resist the appeal of a large,
warm, admiring audience when once he got to his feet. "The only
difficulty will be stopping him," she thought rather sadly. It would be
wise, too, she thought, to put someone next to him at luncheon who
would please him. Flattery from an ugly old woman like herself wou