This conversation referred to an extraordinary meeting of the Town Council which had been convened for the next day, in order to elect a new Mayor of Hathelsborough in succession to John Wallingford, deceased. Brent heard of it that afternoon, from Queenie Crood, in the Castle grounds. He had met Queenie there more than once since their first encountering in those sheltered nooks: already he was not quite sure that he was not looking forward with increasing pleasure to these meetings. For with each Queenie came further out of her shell, the more they met, the more she let him see of herself--and he found her interesting. And they had given up talking of Queenie's stage ambitions--not that she had thrown them over, but that she and Brent had begun to find the discussion of their own personalities more to the immediate point than the canvassing of remote possibilities: each, in fact, was in the stage of finding each other a mine worth exploring. Brent began to see a lot in Queenie and her dark eyes; Queenie was beginning to consider Brent, with his grim jaw, his brusque, off-hand speech, and masterful manner, a curiously fascinating person; besides, he was beginning to do things that only strong men do. "You're in high disgrace at the Tannery House," she remarked archly when they met that afternoon. "I should think your ears must have burned this dinner-time." "Why, now?" inquired Brent. "Uncle Simon brought Mallet and Coppinger home to dinner," continued Queenie. "It was lucky there was a big hot joint!--they're all great eaters and drinkers. And they abused you to their hearts' content. This Town Council business--they say it's infernal impudence for you to put up for election. However, Coppinger says you'll not get in." "Coppinger is a bad prophet," said Brent. "I'll be Town Councillor in a fortnight. Lay anybody ten to one!" "Well, they'll do everything they can to keep you out," declared Queenie. "You've got to fight an awful lot of opposition." "Let 'em all come!" retorted Brent. "I'll represent the Castle Ward, and now that I'm a burgess of Hathelsborough I'll be Mayor some old time." "Not yet, though," said Queenie. "They're going to elect a new Mayor to-morrow. In place of your cousin of course." Brent started. Nobody had mentioned that to him. Yet he might have thought of it himself--of course there must be a new Mayor of Hathelsborough. "Gad! I hope it'll not be one of the old gang!" he muttered. "If it is----" But by noon next day he heard that the old gang had triumphed. Mr. Alderman Crood was elected Mayor of Hathelsborough by a majority of two votes. A couple of the wobblers on the Council had given way at the last moment and thrown in their lot with the reactionary, let-things-alone party. "Never mind! I'll win my election," said Brent. "The future is with me."