"Well, isn't he house-broken?" asked Warrington with gentle malice. "Gentle and warranted to stand?" Patty, for reasons of her own, permitted him to believe that he succeeded in teasing her. "Kate, let us be going. I can not listen to Mr. Warrington's remarks regarding my brother. He treats John as if he were a horse." "Just as you say, dear. We shall punish Mr. Warrington by not making informal calls in the future." "Wait till I get my hat," cried Warrington, "and I'll walk over to the house with you." "If you do that," said Patty, "we shall be compelled to ask you to remain to dinner." "Oh, I should refuse. I've a telephone engagement between five and six." "But we never serve dinner till seven," replied Patty, buttoning her coat austerely. Kate laughed merrily. "If you will ask me over to dinner," said Warrington, "I'll tell you a secret, a real dark political secret, one that I've promised not to tell to a soul." The two women stopped abruptly. The cast was irresistible, and they had to rise to it. Yet Patty murmured: "How like a woman he is!" "It simply shows what high regard I have for your discretion. It is a secret some men would pay a comfortable fortune to learn." "Will you please come and dine with us this evening?" asked Patty. "I shall be very happy." "And now, the secret," said Mrs. Jack. "Between five and six I expect a call on the phone from Senator Henderson." "Senator Henderson!" exclaimed the women in unison. "I shall say but a single word. It will be yes." "But the secret! Mercy alive, you are keeping us waiting!" Warrington glanced around with mock caution. He went mysteriously to the portieres and peered into the hall; he repeated this performance at the dining-room door, then turned, a finger upon his lips. "Senator Henderson is looking for a candidate for mayor this fall. Mind, not a word to a soul, not even to John," this warning addressed principally to Mrs. Jack. "The Honorable Richard Warrington," said Patty, musing. She rolled the words on her tongue as if testing the sound of them. "That's it," laughed Warrington. "The Honorable Richard Warrington!--sounds like Lord Mayor of London!" Every Eden has its serpent, sooner or later. Thus, having futilely tried the usual gates by which he enters Eden to destroy it, this particular serpent found a breach in the gate of politics. Chapter VIII McQuade and Martin entered a cafe popular for its noon lunches. It was hot weather in July, and both were mopping their bald foreheads, their faces and necks. The white bulldog trotted along behind, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his eyes heavy. The two men sat down in a corner under an electric fan; the dog crawled under the table, grateful for the cold stone tiling. "What do you know about this fellow Warrington?" asked McQuade, tossing his hat on one of the unoccupied chairs. "The fellow who writes plays?" "Yes. What do you know about him?"