"We studied ancient history. Is it odd that we should have a faint desire to know what Americans are doing, as well as what the Babylonians did?" "Oh, I do not decry your course as irrational. It seems rather--rather--" "Rather too rational for a young lady." "I did not say that; but here is my excuse," and I took from a table near a periodical entitled "The Young Lady's Own Weekly," addressed to Miss Adah Yocomb. "Have not young men their own weeklies also--which of the two classes is the more weakly?" "Ahem! I decline to pursue this phase of the subject any further. To return to our premise, this journal," and I laid my hand on the old paper caressingly. "It so happens that I read it also, and thus learn that we have had many thoughts in common; though, no doubt, we would differ on some of the questions discussed in it. What do you think of its politics?" "I think they are often very bad." "That's delightfully frank," I said, sitting back in my chair a little stiffly. "I think they are very good--at any rate they are mine." "Perhaps that is the reason they are so good?" "Now, pardon me if I, too, am a trifle plain. Do you consider yourself as competent to form an opinion concerning politics as gray-headed students of affairs?" "Oh, certainly not; but do I understand that you accept, unquestioningly, the politics of the paper you read?" "Far from it: rather that the politics of this paper commend themselves to my judgment." "And you think 'judgment' an article not among a young woman's possessions?" "Miss Warren, you may think what you please of the politics of this paper. But how comes it that you think about them at all? I'm sure that they interest but comparatively few young ladies." Her face suddenly became very grave and sad, and a moment later she turned away her eyes that were full of tears. "I wish you hadn't asked that question; but I will explain my seeming weakness," she said, in a low, faltering voice. "I lost my only brother in the war--I was scarcely more than a child; but I can see him now--my very ideal of brave, loyal manhood. Should I not love the country for which he died?" Politics! a word that men so often utter with contempt, has been hallowed to me since that moment. She looked away for a moment, swiftly pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, then turning toward me said, with a smile, and in her former tones: "Forgive me! I've been a bit lonely and blue this afternoon, for the day has reminded me of the past. I won't be weak and womanish any more. I think some political questions interest a great many women deeply. It must be so. We don't dote on scrambling politicians; but a man as a true statesman makes a grand figure." I was not thinking of statecraft or the craftsmen. "By Jove!" I exclaimed mentally, "this girl is more beautiful than my 'perfect flower of womanhood.' Night-owl that I am, I am just gaining the power to see her clearly as the sun declines."