very fountain of life--no, of humanity.

"I have been watching your daughter," she began casually. "She is very
pretty."

"Yes, she is pretty enough"--his tone was playful--"but I don't like
this craze for short hair."

She looked him over calmly. Indirect methods would be wasted on such an
opponent. "You must admire Mrs. Stribling's."

"I do. Don't you?" His glance roved to the ample beauty beside John
Benham. "It looks exactly like a rope of flax."

"A rope suggests a hanging to me," she rejoined grimly.

He laughed, and she noticed that his eyes were brimming over with
humour. Yes, they were extraordinary eyes, and they made one feel
sympathetic and friendly. The man had a quality, she couldn't deny it.

"We don't hang any longer," he replied.

"Oh, yes, we do sometimes--without the law."

The blue sparkles in his eyes contracted to points of light. She had at
last, by arresting his wandering attention, succeeded in making him look
at her.

"I wonder what you mean," he mused aloud, and added frankly, "I've never
seen you before, have I?"

"Have I?" she mimicked gaily. "Wouldn't you remember me? Or are all
gray-haired women alike to you?"

His gaze travelled to her hair. "I didn't mean it that way. Of course I
should have remembered." He spoiled this by adding: "I never forget a
face," and continued before she could answer, "I don't know whether your
hair is gray or only powdered a little; but you are as young as--as
summer."

"Or as your political party."

"That's good. I like a nimble wit." He was plainly amused. "But my party
isn't young, you know. It is as old as Esau and Jacob. Oh, yes, I've
read my Bible. I was brought up on it."

"That is why your speech is so direct," she said when he paused,
concluding slowly after a minute, "and so sincere."

"You feel that I am sincere?"

She met his eyes gravely. "Doesn't every one?"

He laughed shortly. "Ah, you know better than that!"

"Well, my father does. He says that it is your sincerity that makes you
resemble me."

To her surprise he did not laugh at this. "Do I resemble you?" he asked
simply.

"Father thinks so. He says that people won't take us seriously because
we tell them the truth."

An impression drifted like smoke across the blue of his eyes. Who was
it, she wondered, who had said that his eyes were gray? "Don't they take
you seriously?" he asked.

"As a woman, yes. As a human being, no."

He smiled. "You are too deep. I ca