morning."

He turned to Alys with a return of tolerantly protective inflection in
his voice.

Genevieve shrugged, a faint ghost of a shrug. Had George been less
absorbed in his own mental discomforts, he would have discovered there
and then that the matter of his speech, not the manner of his delivery,
was what held his wife's attention. No longer could rounded periods and
eloquent sophistry hide from her his thoughts and intentions.

A telephone call interrupted the meal. He answered it with relief,
bowing a hurried, self-important excuse to the ladies. But the voice
that came over the wire was not modulated in tones of flattery.

"Say," drawled the campaign manager, "you'd better get a hump on, and
come over here to headquarters. There's a couple of gents here who want
a word with you."

The tone was ominous, and George stiffened. "Very well, I'll be right
over. But you can pretty well tell them where I stand on the main
issues. Who's at headquarters?"

A snort of disgust greeted the inquiry. The snort told George that
seasoned campaigners did not use the telephone with such casual lack of
circumspection. The words were in like manner enlightening. "Well, there
might be Mr. Julius Caesar, and then again Mr. George Washington might
drop in. What I'm putting you wise to," he added sharply, "is that you'd
better get on to your job."

There was a click as of a receiver hung up with a jerk, and a subdued
giggle that testified to the innocent attention of the telephone
operator.

With but a pale reflection of his usual courtesy the harassed candidate
left the bosom of his family. No sooner had he taken his departure than
the bosom heaved.

"My dear girl," said Alys, "if you take that tone with your husband
you'll never hold him--never. Men won't stand for it. You're only
hurting yourself."

"What tone?" Genevieve inquired as she rose calmly and led the way to
the drawing-room.

"I mean"--Mrs. Brewster-Smith slipped a firm, white hand across
Genevieve's shoulders--"you shouldn't try to force issues. It looks as
if you didn't have confidence in your husband, and men, to _do_ and _be_
their best, must feel perfect trust from the woman they love. You don't
mind my being so frank, dear, but we women must help one another--by our
experience and our intuitions."

Genevieve looked at her. Oblique angles had become irritatingly
fascinating. "I'm beginning to think so more and more," she replied.

"It's for your own