rd the last, two men, who did not meet
these mystic difficulties. Esther Wandrell was pleased to be in the
society of either David Lockwin or George Harpwood.

David Lockwin she knew. He was socially her equal. He had lived in
Chicago as long as she. He was essentially the man she might love, for
there was an element of unrest in his nature that corresponded with the
turmoil underneath her calm exterior.

She knew nothing of George Harpwood other than that he was an
acquaintance with whom she liked to pass an hour. He did not degrade
her pride. He walked erectly, he scorned the common people, he
presented an appearance sufficiently striking to enable her to
accompany him without making a bad picture on the street or in the
parlor.

All other men bored her, and she could not conceal the fact.

To promenade with Harpwood and notice that Lockwin was interested--this
was indeed a tonic. The world of tuberoses and _portes cocheres_--the
world of soft carpets and waltzes heard in the distance--this aromatic,
conventional and dreary world became a paradise.

When David Lockwin declared his love, life became dramatic.

When David Lockwin won the primaries and carried the election, life
became useful.

When David Lockwin held the little feet of the dead foundling life
became noble. She, too, would bring from out the recesses of that
man's better nature the treasures of love which lay there. She had not
before known that she hungered and thirsted for love.

It might be the affection of a lioness. She might lick her cubs with
the tongue of a tiger, but her temperament, stirring beneath her, was
pleased.

She has a husband worthy of her worship. She who had not known that
she wanted lover's verses, wants them from David Lockwin.

She who had never been jealous of Davy, grows jealous of politics.
Yet, fearing her husband may guess her secret and despise her, she
appears more Spartan.

She nursed the man sick of brain fever and buried little Davy. She
brought her patient to his senses after nearly a month of alienation.

"Is Davy dead, Esther?" he had asked.

This was his first rational utterance.

"You are elected to Congress, David," she said. "Are you not glad?"

"Yes," he answered, and looked like death itself.

She dared not to throw herself upon his pillow and tell him how happy
she was that he was restored. Her heart beat rebelliously that she did
not declare to him the consuming passion of lo