or you to take my place."

"I can't,--I have no desire to be mayor. You have proved your fitness
for the post," he went on earnestly. "You have proved what a woman can
do. Now keep on."

"No," she answered. "I want you to prove what you can do. The committee
have asked you to stand?"

"Yes,--but then,--you should take another two years to fully establish
and carry out the work you have begun. You see I have completely revised
my ideas concerning a woman for mayor."

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "But, listen. I have, under God, had a
successful term; I have been able to put through several changes for the
better--with the help of good men like you. I am--yes, I admit it,--I am
popular today with the people. But popularity is an uncertain thing,
and there is no telling how soon it may wane. I am wise in letting go,
while I am on the top-wave. Now, honestly, don't you think so?"

"If popularity is all you think of, yes," answered Allingham. "But it
isn't."

"No, it isn't," she admitted. "But if you must have the truth, I'll go
farther and say, the innovation of trying a woman for mayor was an
experiment. The new broom has swept clean, and people are pleased so
far. But the natural and right way of cities is to have a man at the
helm. Between you and me, it is the fore-ordained method of nature to
keep the man at the head of things, to take the brunt, to face the
danger. Say what you will, the woman was not meant for this kind of
thing. As we go on with our municipal life the realization of this is
going to grow upon the people. While they are fully appreciative of all
I have tried to do, there will develop the old desire for a man at the
helm--and then comes discontent. Indeed, I can already see signs of it.
You are the right man for the place. I shall always be thankful for the
experience I have had; but I want no more." She smiled up at him. "I am
more than content to pass it along,--not alone because the burden is
heavy, and I am growing selfish,--but because you are the right man for
mayor of Roma."

"Then if it is your wish," Allingham replied, "I will consent." He rose
to go. "If only we might stand at the head together," he said. "With you
to give a man courage--"

Gertrude interrupted him. "We should not be in accord. We could never
agree. Don't talk about it." She rang the bell for the stenographer, and
Allingham turned to go.

"May I say," she added, relenting at the expression on his face, "that
yo