The meeting to-night was not over-interesting. It might have been railed less incendiary, but it was certainly more selfish than Mr. James Starbuck’s, we have so lately left; while for earnestness and a definite attempt at effecting something, the two were not for one moment to be compared. For whereas the official political organization of the great national party in Haviland’s ward was occupied primarily with satisfactory apportionments of the offices among the would-be candidates, and secondarily with beating the rival party at the polls, Starbuck’s people went in much more directly for measures than for men, and as for offices, desired none at all. Haviland found it hard to keep his attention, that evening, on the subject before the meeting. Tom was saying what a good fellow was William, and how the machinations of Richard might be defeated if Patrick were only secured, which might be done if Michael were given a local judgeship. It was pretty unsatisfactory talk at the best, and hardly can have been what the makers of the Constitution, or even what Monsieur Jean Jacques Rousseau, intended. Haviland had often stood up against it, alone; but that night he gave little ear to it, and things went their own way. From this meeting he went to the Farnums’. He was a familiar in the house, and could call late, if he chose. Mrs. Farnum had disappeared; Mr. Farnum was rarely visible; but sitting in the front room alone, with a sweeping robe of pale-gray velvet across the floor, and head and arm leaning on a low chair, a book discarded lying face downward on the floor, he found the beauty. A moment before he entered, her eyes (purple-gray they were in color) had had a strange look, both proud and longing, both weary and fierce. This was peculiar to them; but it softened a shade as he entered, and she looked up at him. “Mr. Haviland?” said she. “Yes--I came to see you because----” “Because you had nothing better to do,” said she, tersely. “If you will,” said John, smiling. “Though it is not kind.” “The world is not kind,” said the beauty, with a frown, looking off again. “For the world you are not responsible,” said Haviland gravely. “Tell me, do you know Miss Holyoke?” “Miss Holyoke? What Miss Holyoke?” “Mrs. Richard Livingstone’s niece.” “No,” said Kitty Farnum, curtly. “I don’t know Mrs. Livingstone.” “But I thought you might have met Miss Holyoke. Do you not belong to the Combined Charities?” “Certainly not.” “I wish you did,” said John, half to himself. “I thought you and Miss Holyoke might--might find it pleasant to go together.” “I have no interest in them,” said Miss Farnum, as if finally. And she looked as if she thought the world too intolerable to herself to dream of trying to mitigate it for others. “Excuse me,” said Haviland; and the talk drifted off into commonplaces. But Miss Farnum’s manners were not lenient, and his call was a short one.