“But bless my soul, my dear young lady! That is precisely what The Guardian has been doing to me. You have n’t been reading it these few years past.” “Oh, yes. Every day. I do not pretend to understand that part of it. But I do know this; that Mr. Rob--that The Guardian is making a fight single-handed for the Nation and the war, and is being beaten because those who should stand by it are not patriotic enough to forget old scores. Have you stopped to think of that, Mr. Clark?” The magnate shifted uncomfortably in his seat. To say that he had stopped to think of this would be untrue. Rather, the thought had essayed to stop him and force itself on his consideration with increasing pertinacity of late, and he had barely contrived to dodge it and go on about his lawful occasions. Now it challenged him in the clear regard of a very beautiful and very determined young woman. “No. Yes,” said Montrose Clark, and left that for her to take her pick of. “One would n’t think you the kind to take such an interest in politics.” “Is this politics--exactly?” she asked quietly. Upon Montrose Clark’s chubby facial contours appeared a heightened color. “No; by thunder! It is n’t. Will you sit here, young lady, and keep out of sight of pursuers until I can catch and fetch Selden Dana?” Marcia had not long to wait. The Judge was retrieved from a circle of the elderly, harmless, but influential, with whom he had been discussing cures. The two men sat and drank more tea than was good for them, while Marcia made her argument and plea. Then said Selden Dana to Montrose Clark, smiling: “Let’s buy out The Guardian and turn it over to her to run.” “We might do worse,” conceded the magnate. “It is not to be bought,” said Marcia. “Have _you_ tried?” the lawyer flashed at her. “You have,” he answered himself, marking the response in her face. “Well, I _am_ dashed!” He and Montrose Clark exchanged glances. “Business is business,” observed the lawyer with apparent irrelevance, but in the tone of one who strives to recall a wandering purpose. “Quite so!” murmured Montrose Clark. “Quite so!” But there was a lack of conviction in his voice. “Miss Ames,” said Dana, “I pride myself on being a judge of character. Sometimes I meet a problem that puzzles me. Why has n’t Jem Robson gone into uniform?” “Do you think Mr. Robson is a slacker?” she shot back at him. “Not if I read him right. That’s what puzzles me about his staying behind.” “Did it not occur to you that he has a more important fight here than there?” “It might occur to me,” admitted the lawyer. “But I don’t know that I’d care to have it occur to a son of mine.” She gave him her flashing smile. “That is clever of you,” she said. “I like that! And now I will violate a confidence, but it must go no farther. The doctor would not pass Mr. Robson for active service. Mr. Galpin told me.”