Anice listened to him with a sort of wonderment, which always possessed her when he spoke of his social aspirations. That a man of his indomitable strength and largeness of nature should harp so eternally and yearn so strenuously in that one petty strain, never ceased to amaze her. “The feet of clay on the image of iron,” she told herself as she dismissed the thought. “By the way,” asked Conover, as she rose to leave the room, “were you thinking of going to the Standish meeting to-night?” “Yes,” she answered, meeting his quizzical gaze fearlessly, “if you can spare me.” “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m afraid I can’t. I’ve about a ream of campaign stuff to go through, and I shall need your help.” “Very well,” answered Anice, and he could decipher neither disappointment nor any other emotion in those childlike brown eyes of hers. “Lord!” he muttered to himself as she went out, “what a politician that woman would have made! The devil himself can’t read her. If I had married a girl like that instead—I wonder if that heart-trouble of the wife’s is ever likely to carry her off sudden.” An hour or so of sunlight remained. Anice, tired from her all-day confinement indoors, donned hat and jacket and sallied forth for a walk. She turned her steps northward toward the open country that lay beyond Pompton Avenue. There was a sting in the early fall air in that high latitude which made walking a pleasure. Moreover, after the atmosphere of work, tobacco, politics and reminiscences that had been her portion since early morning, it was a joy to be alone with the cool and the sweetness of the dying day. Besides, she wanted to think. But the solitary stroll she had planned was not to be her portion, for, as she rounded the first corner, she came upon Clive Standish deep in talk with Ansel. Clive’s tired eyes brightened at the sight of her. The look of weariness that had crept into the candidate’s face since she had last seen him went straight to Anice’s heart. With a hurried word of dismissal to his campaign manager, Standish left his companion and fell into step at Miss Lanier’s side. “This is better than I expected,” said he. “I always manage to include Pompton Avenue in my tramps lately, but this is the first time I’ve caught a glimpse of you.” “You are looking badly,” she commented. “You are working too hard.” “One must, in a fight like mine. It’s nothing to what I must do during my tour. Everything depends on that. I start to-morrow.” “So soon? I’m sorry.” “Why?” he asked in some surprise. “I’m afraid you’ll find Mr. Conover stronger up-State than you think. I don’t like to see you disappointed.” “You care?” “Of course I do. I hate to see anyone disappointed.” “How delightfully impersonal!” grumbled Clive, in disgust. “I thought you were averse to personalities. You’ve said so in both the speeches I’ve heard you make.” “You came to hear me? I——” “One likes to keep abreast of the times; to hear both sides——” “And having heard both——”