"That's true," Madeline put in. "A little dog isn't a very good guide up

the hilly road of righteousness. As for me, I prefer open-eyed obedience

to blind obedience."

"I'll be bound you prefer obedience anyway," Dick said in an undertone,

and he looked at her as though something in her hurt him. He turned

abruptly to Mr. Preston.

"Preston," he said, "I wish we could hold a special election and put you

into the executive chair before your time. Every kind of evil thing is

taking advantage of our present lax administration. I believe the crooks

of other cities are flying to us on the wings of the wind. One of the

plain-clothes men told me to-day that the government detectives have

traced a gang of counterfeiters to our beloved city, though they have

not succeeded in spotting the rascals' whereabouts. It's rather

humiliating to find St. Etienne picked out as a good hiding-place for

any villany there is going."

"You needn't be so sure that a special election or any other kind would

carry us in," laughed Mr. Preston. "I'm not so confident as you seem,

Percival, that this community is overwhelmed with the consciousness of

its rare opportunity."

And so the talk drifted on, as usual, to politics.

After dinner, in the drawing-room, Lena saw her husband in conversation

with Ram Juna. The two crossed the room, and Dick introduced the new

prophet.

"I fear my too constant inspection disturbed you. Myriad pardons for

me," began the Swami in his mellifluous voice. "It is the tribute. When

I feel deep interest I am prone to forget all but my study. See, I am

the last of a family once powerful and wealthy; yet I hardly regret that

heritage that I have lost. I look at you. You are the type of another

fate. You are a bride, young, lovely, with the vigor and glory of this

new race of America. I envy not, but I wonder. So I look too long."

Lena glanced discomfited at the retreating back of her husband and

said, "I'm sure I didn't notice anything peculiar."

A curious gleam came into Ram Juna's sleepy eyes.

"Ah, then you, like me, love to examine the soul, your own or another's.

You have fellow feeling. So you forgive. May I sit here beside you?"

Lena drew aside her petticoats and the Swami shared her little sofa.

"You see that while you make study of others, I make study of you. I

should wish to be your friend. I should in fact fear to have you count

me an enemy."

Lena blinked at him in an uncomprehending way with her big eyes, and he

smiled innocently in return.

"A woman who is an enemy is a danger. But men are tough-skinned and hard

to kill. Is it not so? And even a woman enemy is often powerless to

hurt. But when a woman hates a woman, then the case is different. A

woman is easy to hurt. A little blow, even a breath on her reputation or

to her pride, and the woman is wounded beyond repair. Is it not so?"




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