lly parted now with the ceremonial of easy kissing. But both of them
had forgotten about mayors.

Jeff, with the returns to take her, that night before going home ran in
to Amabel. He believed he ought to be the first to tell her. She would
be disappointed, for after all Weedon Moore was her candidate. As he got
to the top of the steps Moore came scuttling out at the front door and
Jeff stood aside to let him pass. He walked in, calling to her as he
went. She did not answer, but he found her in the library, standing, a
figure of quivering dignity, of majesty hurt and humbled. When she saw
him Amabel's composure broke, and she gave a sob or two, and then twice
said his name.

"What is it?" said Jeff.

He went to her and she faced him, the colour running over her face.

"That man--" she said, and stopped.

"Moore?"

"Yes. He has insulted me."

"Moore?" he repeated.

"He has asked me--Jeff, I am a woman of sixty and over--he has asked me
to marry him."

"Wait a minute," said Jeff. "I've forgotten something."

He wheeled away from her and ran out and down the path after Weedie
Moore. Weedie's legs, being short, had not covered ground very fast.
Jeff had no trouble in overtaking him.

In less than ten minutes, he walked into Miss Amabel's library again, a
little breathless, with eyes shining somewhat and his nostrils big, it
might be thought, from haste. She had composed herself, and he knew her
confidence was neither to be repeated nor enlarged upon. There she sat
awaiting him, dignity embodied, a little more tense than usual and her
head held high. All her ancestors might have been assembled about her,
invisible but exacting, and she accounting to them for the indignity
that had befallen her, and assuring them it was to her, as it would have
been to them, incredible. She was even a little stiff with Jeff at
first, because she had told him what she would naturally have hidden,
like a disgraceful secret. Jeff understood her perfectly. She had met
Weedon Moore on philanthropic grounds, an equal so long as they were
both avowed philanthropists. But when the little man aspired unduly and
ventured to pull at the hem of her maiden gown, Christian tolerance went
by the board and she was Addington and he was Weedon Moore. She would
never be able to summon Christian virtues to the point of a community of
interests with him again. Jeff understood Moore, too, Moore who was
probably on his way home at the moment getting h