The table was laid for six in the sitting room, the flowers and candles giving it a homelike look. As Mrs. Winthrop listened to the conversation between her husband and David she was forced to admit that the young candidate for governor was a man of mark. "I never knew a man without good birth to have such perfect breeding," she thought. "He really appears as well as Fletcher, and, well, of course, he has more temperament. If he could have been born on a different plane," thinking of her long line of Virginia ancestors. She had ceded a great deal to her husband's and Carey's democracy, and reserved many an unfavorable criticism of their friends and their friends' ways with a tactfulness that had blinded their eyes to her true feelings. Yet David knew instinctively her standpoint; she partly suspected that he knew, and the knowledge did not disturb her; she intuitively gauged his pride, and welcomed it, for a suitor of the Fletcher Wilder station of life was more to her liking. Carey led David away from her father's political discourse, and encouraged him to give reminiscences of old days. Joe told a few inimitable western stories, and before the cozy little meal was finished Mrs. Winthrop, though against her will, was feeling the compelling force of David's winning sweetness. The sound of a distant band hurried them from the table to the balcony. "They've certainly got a fair showing of floating banners and transformations," said Joe. As the procession came nearer the face of the hardy ranchman flushed crimson and his eyes flashed dangerously. He made a quick motion as if to obstruct David's vision, but the young candidate had already seen. He stood as if at bay, his face pale, his eyes riveted on those floating banners which bore in flaming letters the inscriptions: "The father of David Dunne died in state prison!" "His mother was a washerwoman!" CHAPTER VI The others were stricken into shocked silence which they were too stunned for the moment to break. It was Fletcher who recovered first, but then Fletcher was the only one present who did not know that the words had struck home. "We mustn't wait another moment, David," he said emphatically, "to get out sweeping denials and--" "We can't," said David wearily. "It is true." "Oh," responded Fletcher lamely. There was another silence. Something in David's voice and manner had made the silence still more constrained. "I'll go down and smash their banners!" muttered Joe, who had not dared to look in David's direction. Mr. Winthrop restrained him. "The matter will take care of itself," he counseled. It is mercifully granted that the intensity of present suffering is not realized. Only in looking back comes the pang, and the wonder at the seemingly passive endurance.