e perfectly right, and so is the President. I have no
business to be meddling in politics. It is not my place. The next time
you hear of me, I promise it shall not be as an office-seeker."

Then he rapidly changed the subject, saying that he hoped Mrs. Lee was
soon going northward again, and that they might meet at Newport.

"I don't know," replied Madeleine; "the spring is pleasant here, and we
shall stay till the warm weather, I think."

Mr. Gore looked grave. "And your politics!" said he; "are you satisfied
with what you have seen?"

"I have got so far as to lose the distinction between right and wrong.
Isn't that the first step in politics?"

Mr. Gore had no mind even for serious jesting. He broke out into a long
lecture which sounded like a chapter of some future history: "But Mrs.
Lee, is it possible that you don't see what a wrong path you are on.
If you want to know what the world is really doing to any good purpose,
pass a winter at Samarcand, at Timbuctoo, but not at Washington. Be a
bank-clerk, or a journeyman printer, but not a Congressman. Here you
will find nothing but wasted effort and clumsy intrigue."

"Do you think it a pity for me to learn that?" asked Madeleine when his
long essay was ended.

"No!" replied Gore, hesitating; "not if you do learn it. But many people
never get so far, or only when too late. I shall be glad to hear
that you are mistress of it and have given up reforming politics. The
Spaniards have a proverb that smells of the stable, but applies to
people like you and me: The man who washes his donkey's head, loses time
and soap."

Gore took his leave before Madeleine had time to grasp all the impudence
of this last speech. Not until she was fairly in bed that night did it
suddenly flash on her mind that Mr. Gore had dared to caricature her as
wasting time and soap on Mr. Ratcliffe. At first she was violently
angry and then she laughed in spite of herself; there was truth in the
portrait. In secret, too, she was the less offended because she half
thought that it had depended only on herself to make of Mr. Gore
something more than a friend. If she had overheard his parting words to
Carrington, she would have had still more reason to think that a little
jealousy of Ratcliffe's success sharpened the barb of Gore's enmity.

"Take care of Ratcliffe!" was his farewell; "he is a clever dog. He has
set his mark on Mrs. Lee. Look out that he doesn't walk off with her!"

A little start