t of the mayor's
visit. Speculation glimmered in his eyes, and his wide, affable smile
was subtle with anticipation of a diplomatic test. He was secretly
amused that Emmet should presume upon his blushing honours in this
fashion, but doubtless the man had a plausible excuse for his
intrusion, some civic scheme for which he wished to bespeak
cooperation. After his humiliation the previous night, he had
conceived a plan for drawing some of his opponents into his own camp,
and this was perhaps the first movement of the new campaign. So ran
the bishop's conjecture, and he was not surprised at his visitor's
unmistakable air of excitement, at the pallor of his face. Perhaps his
drubbing at the hands of Cobbens had taught him more respect for the
class he had been wont to denounce to his followers, and had deprived
him of a moiety of his self-assurance.

"Bishop Wycliffe," Emmet returned, coming into the hall and taking off
his hat, "I had n't decided to call upon you--yet. It is your daughter
whom I wish to see."

It was months since the bishop had given Felicity's advocacy of this
man a thought. The election seemed to have killed her interest, for
she had not spoken of him since, and besides, his suspicions were
centred solely on Leigh. Perhaps, then, the scheme was one of charity,
and the mayor had planned to begin with Felicity, remembering her
former kindness.

The bishop hesitated, when the rustle of silken skirts caused him to
turn his head, but he greeted Felicity's appearance unperturbed.

"Oh, here you are, my dear. I thought you had gone out."

"I overheard I had a caller," she returned, taking her husband's hand
and meeting his eyes unflinchingly. "I have n't had a chance to
congratulate you, Mr. Emmet, upon your election, for we had to go South
the next day on account of father's health. You caught me at the
feminine trick of listening over the banisters."

The bishop was secretly annoyed at her cordiality, but still confident
that he could trust his daughter to remember the difference between a
common interest in charitable work and social equality.

"I leave Mr. Emmet in your hands," he said to her. "I have a little
business at the Hall, and shall return for lunch."

And he went out, thinking how like a bewildered yokel the mayor seemed
in the face of his daughter's graceful greeting, and imagining with
relish his further discomfiture.

The door had closed behind him, and as yet Emmet had