"

"She has the public eye and ear," said Grahame, thinking out his own
theory as he talked. "Her book is the book of the hour ... reviewed by
the press ... the theme of pulpits ... the text of speeches galore ...
common workmen thump one another over it at the bench. Now all the
others, Bradford, Fritters, the Columbia professors, Bitterkin and his
followers, seem to play second to her book. They keep away from her
society, yet her strongest backing is from them. You know what I mean.
It has occurred to me that if we got her history ... it must be pretty
savory ... and printed it ... traced her connection with the Livingstone
crowd ... it would be quite a black eye for the Honorable Quincy."

"By George, but you've struck it," cried Arthur waking up to the
situation. "If she's the hinge, she's the party to strike at. Tell me,
what became of Curran?"

"Lucky thought," shouted Grahame. "He's in town yet. The very man for
us."

"I'm going to have it out with Livingstone," said Arthur, with a clear
vision of an English prison and the patient woman who watched its walls
from a window in the town. "In fact, I _must_ have it out with
Livingstone. He's good game, and I'd like to bring him back from England
in a bag. Perhaps Sister Claire may be able to provide the bag."

"Hands on it," said Grahame, and they touched palms over the table,
while the Senator broke into smiles. He had unlimited faith in his
nephew.

"Lord Conny gave me an outline of Livingstone's program before I left.
He's worried over the effect it's going to have on his alliance scheme,
and he cursed the Minister sincerely. He'll help us. Let's begin with
Sister Claire in the hope of bagging the whole crowd. Let Curran hunt up
her history. Above all let him get evidence that Livingstone provides
the money for her enterprise."

Having come to a conclusion on this important matter, they dropped into
more personal topics.

"Strangely enough," said Grahame cheerfully, "my own destiny is mixed up
with this whole business. The bulwark of Livingstone in one quarter is
John Everard. I am wooing, in the hope of winning, my future
father-in-law."

"He's very dead," the Senator thought.

"The art of wooing a father-in-law!--what an art!" murmured Grahame.
"The mother-in-law is easy. She wishes her daughter married. Papa
doesn't. At least in this case, with a girl like Mona."

"Has Everard anything against you?"

"A whole litany of crimes."

"What's wrong