e yet been afforded me, and worthy of
ampler recognition than I have yet received. If I accept you as a
husband, it will be because I feel confident that you will give my life
the opportunity to expand, and that you sympathize with my desire to
express myself adequately and to labor hand in hand, side by side, with
you in the important work of the world."

"That is what I would have you do, Selma. Because you are worthy of it,
and because it is your right."

"On that understanding it seems that we might be very happy."

"I am certain of it. You fill my soul with gladness," he cried, and
seizing her hand he pressed it to his lips and covered it with kisses,
but she withdrew it, saying, "Not yet--not yet. This step represents so
much to me. It means that if I am mistaken in you, my whole life will be
ruined, for the next years should be my best. We must not be too hasty.
There are many things to be thought of. I must consider Mr. Parsons. I
cannot leave him immediately, if at all, for he is very dependent on
me."

"I had thought of that. While Mr. Parsons lives, I realize that your
first duty must be to him."

The reverential gravity of his tone was in excess of the needs of the
occasion, and Selma understood that he intended to imply that Mr.
Parsons would not long need her care. The same thought was in her own
mind, and it had occurred to her in the course of her previous
cogitations in regard to Lyons, that in the event of his death it would
suit her admirably to continue to occupy the house as its real mistress.
She looked grave for a moment in her turn, then with a sudden access of
coyness she murmured, "I do not believe that I am mistaken in you."

"Ah," he cried, and would have folded her in his arms, but she evaded
his onset and said with her dramatic intonation, "The knights of old won
their lady-loves by brilliant deeds. If you are elected a member of
Congress, you may come to claim me."

Reflection served only to convince Selma of the wisdom of her decision
to try matrimony once more. She argued, that though a third marriage
might theoretically seem repugnant if stated as a bald fact, the actual
circumstances in her case not merely exonerated her from a lack of
delicacy, but afforded an exhibition of progress--a gradual evolution in
character. She felt light-hearted and triumphant at the thought of her
impending new importance as the wife of a public man, and she interested
herself exuberantly in the pr