ded from his memory as he faced her in her home, so stately, so kind,
so far from fond. Her rebellion from those mad kisses of his on his
first visit had thoroughly intimidated him. He felt, now, that he must
win his way to such blisses by slow degrees, as if the Brassfield life
had never been for her more than for him. So they talked over the cool
and sensible things they might have discussed had she been his
grandmother; among others, the campaign.

She had tremendously good ideas as to city government. Amidon had long
entertained similar notions, and that their unity of sentiment might
appear, each wrote answers to a list of questions which they made up,
and Amidon was hugely delighted to find that they agreed precisely.

"Why not make it your platform?" she asked.

"You mean, a public manifesto?" he queried.

"Surely," said she. "The people ought to know what we represent.
Print it, so all may be well informed."

"But that would be an acceptance of the nomination," said he.

"Hardly," she replied. "We have already accepted, and that's settled.
But it will raise the contest to one of principle. The best elements
of society are with you--Doctor Bulkon might as well have mentioned
your name as he described the ideal candidate to-day--and such a noble
declaration from you will fill them with joy. Oh, don't you think so?"

"Elizabeth," said he, "if I take this office, it will be for your sake.
I shall withdraw, or run on your platform."

"Oh, you can't withdraw," she asseverated. "Not now!"

The adoring glances, in which she constantly surprised him, mitigated
somewhat the pique which his ceremoniously respectful parting raised in
her heart. She stood looking at the hand he had kissed, and wondering
if this was the Eugene of days gone by, but was not quite able to think
him cold to her. This was true at all events, she thought, the
offensiveness--half-reserve, half-familiarity--the curious impression
of strangeness which so nearly caused a breach between them on his
return from New York--that was gone, at least. This new attitude of
his--well, that was to be considered. In some respects, the change had
its element of piquancy--like a love affair with an innocent boy where
the wiles of experience had been expected.

In the meantime, Mr. Alvord was happy. He had opened "Brassfield
Headquarters," over which he presided with a force of clerks who were
busy with poll-books and other clerkly-looking p