have to--to a man at the head of the party like Albee. I
feel much easier in my mind. The governor can do anything, and now that
Lydia has come to her senses she is determined to go into court with the
best case possible, and you know how clever she is. Thank you, Eleanor,
for all you have done for us."

Like many workers of miracles, Eleanor went away surprised at her own
powers. The idea of O'Bannon being coerced or rewarded into letting
Lydia off gave her exquisite pain. She felt like warning him to do his
duty, even if it meant Lydia's being found guilty. Yet she sincerely
wanted Lydia saved--meant to go as far as she could to save her. She
knew with what a perfect surface of honesty such things could be done;
how a district attorney, while from the public's point of view
prosecuting a case with the utmost vigor, might leave open some
wonderful technical escape for the defense. It could be done without
O'Bannon losing an atom of public respect. But she, Eleanor, would know;
would know as she saw him conducting the case; would know when a year or
so later, after everyone else had forgotten, he would receive his
reward--some political appointment or perhaps a financial chairmanship.
Albee had great powers in business as well as politics. In her own mind
she formulated the words, "I have the utmost confidence in O'Bannon."
But she knew, too, how all people of passionate, quick temperaments are
sometimes swept by their own desires, and how easily most lawyers could
find rational grounds for taking the position they desired to take. It
would be so natural for any man under the plea of pity for a young woman
like Lydia to allow himself to be subtly corrupted into letting her off.

Eleanor's own position was not simple. She faced it clearly. She was for
Lydia, whatever happened, as far as her conduct went; but in spite of
herself her sympathies swung to and fro. When women like Fanny Piers and
May Swayne said, with a certain relish they couldn't keep out of their
tones and reluctant dimples at the corners of their mouths, "Isn't this
too dreadful about poor Lydia?" then she was whole-heartedly Lydia's.
But when she detected in all her friends--except Bobby, who was frankly
frightened--the belief that they were beyond the law, that nothing could
happen to any member of their protected group, then she felt she would
enjoy nothing so much as seeing one of them prove an exception to the
general immunity.

The coroner held Ly