She laughed merrily, her delicate hand tingling as it touched his shock of hair that grew in such disorderly fashion yet exactly suited the superb contour of his head. Said she: “Well, you’ve got what you came for.” He smiled grimly. “How am I going to think straight and do what’s right for both of us, with you touching me?” “You don’t want me to touch you?” With a strong sweeping gesture, he drew her against him, as she stood beside him, he sitting. “You know we might as well say we’re going to wait for each other,” proceeded she. It is astonishing--and enlightening--how well women argue when they wish to. “You know we’ll do it, anyhow. You won’t marry any other woman?” “There isn’t but one woman for me,” said he, with an accent that thrilled her. “Do you think _I_ could let any other man _touch_ me?” demanded she. There was a delightfully ferocious jealousy in the sudden tightening of the arm about her waist. He said: “I guess we’re in for it, Ellen.” Her arm went round his shoulders. Said she laughingly: “Women aren’t so _very_ hard to understand--are they?” He eyed her shrewdly. “Not when they’re willing to be understood.... You are _sure_ you want to wait?” “I’m sure I’ve _got_ to,” replied she, simply. He suddenly stood up, drawing away from her. She was in a tremor of alarm--which was not decreased by his resolute expression, until he said: “I must get to work. I’ve got to hurry things. You understand, you’re entirely free until I’m able to come for you?” “If it helps you to think so,” she answered. “But--I’m not that kind of girl, George.” A look of tenderness flooded her and he said: “I didn’t mean that. Of course you aren’t. You’re--mine.” And she was crying with happiness. * * * * * Sayler understood as soon as he saw her face. And he felt that he had won. George Helm, on his way to the triumphant class--was it not a fundamental law of human nature that a human being could not be _in_ a class without becoming _of_ it, of its ideas, feelings, attitude toward other classes? George Helm, marrying a girl of the triumphant class. Could he, however tenacious, resist the influences, the subtle influences, insistent, incessant, unconsciously exerted, unconsciously yielded to--the influences of a loved wife of the triumphant class from birth? “He shall be the next governor of this state,” Sayler said to himself; and a smile more amiably generous than his never glorified human visage.