remely winning in
her desire for his admiration. "Do you think I would make a pretty
wife, even for a mayor?" she faltered.

He caught her once more in his arms, as if the word wife had awakened
within him a curious intensity of feeling, but for once she was not
satisfied. Gradually her slender form became shaken by a storm of
convulsive sobs. He waited in silence, with all a primitive man's
uncomprehending distress at a woman's tears.

"Don't borrow trouble, Lena," he said simply. The tone, more than the
words, showed that his mood had become stern, almost resentful. In
fact, it was the first time she had given him anything but pleasure,
and pleasure was all he desired from her.

His answer was not what she had hoped for, but her woman's wisdom
forbade her to press the matter then. Of his love she felt no doubt;
the intensity of his look, the well-nigh fierce impulsiveness of his
caresses, showed her that the appeal she made to him was almost
irresistible. Almost, but not quite. She could never be in his
company long without a consciousness of the warring elements within
him--on this side love, on that side ambition, fighting foot to foot
and point to point, neither strong enough to win the victory.
Sometimes he would gaze at her in silence, with his warm, speculative
eyes, until, drawn like a fascinated bird, she fluttered to his arms in
the hope of the great decision, but her hope was never realised. Now
she divined that tears and prayers would not help her cause; he must be
allured by her charm, not driven by her claims upon his compassion.

At this thought she recovered her composure and dried her eyes, and
strove with success to make him forget her importunity. Disarmed and
soothed, he sunk down to a lower seat beside her and rested his head
boyishly upon her lap. He pushed back her short sleeve, nestled his
face in the bend of her arm, and kissed it hungrily. The action, their
relative positions, introduced a new element into their relationship,
to which her deep maternal instinct made quick response. With a new
tenderness she threw the fold of her cape about his head and shoulders,
and held him close. Thus they sat for some time in silence. Beyond
the warm shelter of her cape he heard the faint soughing of the wind,
which had brought the rain at last, a drowsy and monotonous rain that
lulled his senses. Instinctively he rested heavily upon her in weary
abandonment. Finally his form relaxed,