Miss Brandon looked at Vancouver with a sort of calm incredulity. Mrs. Wyndham always quarreled with him on points like the one now raised, and accordingly took up the cudgels. "I do not see how you can congratulate yourself on the management of your institution, as you call it, when you know very well you would rather die than have anything to do with it." "Very true. But then, you always say that gentlemen should not touch anything so dirty as politics, Mrs. Wyndham," retorted Vancouver. "Well, that just shows that it is not an institution at all, and that you are quite wrong, and that we are a great nation supported and carried on by real patriotism." "And the Irish and German votes," added Vancouver, with that scorn which only the true son of freedom can exhibit in speaking of his fellow-citizens. "Oh, the Irish vote! That is always the last word in the argument," answered Mrs. Sam. "I do not see exactly what the Irish have to do with it," remarked Miss Brandon, innocently. She did not understand politics. Vancouver glanced at the clock and took his hat. "It is very simple," he said, rising to go. "It is the bull in the china shop--the Irish bull amongst the American china--dangerous, you know. Good evening, Mrs. Wyndham; good evening, Miss Brandon." And he took his leave. Miss Brandon watched his slim figure disappear through the heavy curtains of the door. "He has not changed much since I knew him," she said, turning again to the fire. "I used to think he was clever." "And have you changed your mind?" asked Mrs. Wyndham, laughing. "Not quite, but I begin to doubt. He has very good manners, and looks altogether like a gentleman." "Of course," said Mrs. "Wyndham." His mother was a Shaw, although his father came from South Carolina. But he is really very bright; Sam always says he is one of the ablest men in Boston." "In what way?" inquired Sybil. "Oh, he is a lawyer, don't you know?--great railroad man." "Oh," ejaculated Miss Brandon, and relapsed into silence. Mrs. Wyndham rose and stood before the fire, and pushed a log back with her small foot. Miss Brandon watched her, half wondering whether the flames would not catch her dress. "I have been to see that Miss Thorn," said Sybil presently. "Oh," exclaimed Mrs. Sam, with sudden interest, "tell me all about her this minute, dear. Is not she the most extraordinary creature?" "I rather like her," answered Miss Brandon. "She is very pretty." "What style? Dark?" "No; not exactly. Brown hair, and lots of eyebrows. She is a little thing, but very much alive, you know." "Awfully English, of course," suggested Mrs. Sam. "Well--yes, I suppose so. She is wild about horses, and says she shoots. But I like her--I am sure I shall like her very much. She does not seem very pleased with her aunt." "I do not wonder," said Mrs. Sam. "Poor little thing--she has nobody else belonging to her, has she?"