ng the library I was met by Mrs. Packard with the remark:

"Have you any interest in politics? Do you know anything about the
subject?"

"I have an interest in Mayor Packard's election," I smilingly assured
her; "and I know that in this I represent a great number of people in
this town if not in the state."

"You want to see him governor? You desired this before you came to this
house? You believe him to be a good man--the right man for the place?"

"I certainly do, Mrs. Packard."

"And you represent a large class who feel the same?"

"I think so, Mrs. Packard."

"I am so glad!" Her tone was almost hysterical. "My heart is set on
this election," she ardently explained. "It means so much this year. My
husband is very ambitious. So am I--for him. I would give--" there she
paused, caught back, it would seem, by some warning thought. I took
advantage of her preoccupation to scrutinize her features more closely
than I had dared to do while she was directly addressing me. I found
them set in the stern mold of profound feeling--womanly feeling, no
doubt, but one actuated by causes far greater than the subject, serious
as it was, apparently called for. She would give--

What lay beyond that give?

I never knew, for she never finished her sentence.

Observing the breathless interest her manner evoked, or possibly
realizing how nearly she had come to an unnecessary if not unwise
self-betrayal, she suddenly smoothed her brow and, catching up a piece
of embroidery from the table, sat down with it in her hand.

"A wife is naturally heart and soul with her husband," she observed,
with an assumption of composure which restored some sort of naturalness
to the conversation. "You are a thinking person, I see, and what is
more, a conscientious one. There are many, many such in town; many
amongst the men as well as amongst the women. Do you think I am in
earnest about this--that Mr. Packard's chances could be affected by--by
anything that might be said about me? You saw, or heard us say, at
least, that my name had been mentioned in the morning paper in a way not
altogether agreeable to us. It was false, of course, but--" She started,
and her work fell from her hands. The door-bell had rung and we could
hear Nixon in the hall hastening to answer it.

"Miss Saunders," she hurriedly interposed with a great effort to speak
naturally, "I have told Nixon that I wish to see Mr. Steele if he comes
in this morning. I wish to speak to