g, gurgling ups and downs of conversations purely social, "I have
made up my mind to come in every morning and help Uncle Pat. I'm tired
of being a useless encumbrance."

Delivering which, Dorothy wore the resolved manner of a new Joan of Arc
who had come seeking fields of politics rather than those of war.

"And I have been of use to you, haven't I, Uncle Pat?" demanded Dorothy.

"Of measureless use, dear," said Senator Hanway. Then, turning to his
secretary, who had taken a score of letters shorthand and was about to
seek his own quarters and run them off upon the typewriter: "Have those
copied by three o'clock and bring them here for signature."

Senator Hanway had no more than given Richard good-morning when Senator
Loot was announced.

"He won't stay long," said Senator Hanway; "but while he's here, dear,
won't you take Mr. Storms into the library?" This request was preferred
to Dorothy.

"Yes," began Dorothy, when she and Richard found themselves in the
library, and nothing to interrupt them but the distant slumbrous rumble
of Senator Loot. "Yes, I'm going to help Uncle Pat. And I'm going to
learn how to be a newspaper woman, too. I think every girl should be
capable of earning her own living. Not that I expect to be obliged to do
so; but it is best to be prepared." Dorothy's face was funereal, as
though disasters, clawed and fanged, were roaming the thickets of the
future to spring upon her. "So I shall learn the newspaper trade; go in
and be a writer as you are--only not so brilliant--and then, if it were
necessary, I could earn my own way."

Now Richard knew these industrious resolutions to be the veriest webs of
subterfuge. Their duplicity was apparent, and they were spun for him.
Dorothy owned no thought of missing his morning calls, and had met
Senator Hanway's courtesies of the veranda door with a move in flank.
The news cocked up the spirits of Richard excessively, and gave to his
Farnese shoulders an insolent swing as he strutted up and down the
library. He had expected Dorothy to reproach him for the soft violence
done her fingers; but she made no mention of it. Whereupon--in such
manner do unchecked iniquities multiply upon themselves--Richard turned
towards her with a purpose of again outraging those little fingers with
the burden of a fresh caress. The little fingers, grown wary, however,
were in discreet retirement behind Dorothy, as, with her back to the
window, she stood facing him. Defeated