Senator David Alynton, remembering that the owners of the “Clarion” also owned a good-sized block of “Sugar,” and were the secret press agents of the Trust, tried earnestly to obtain an opinion from the taciturn Conyers. “I know nothing whatever of this man,” gallantly answered the writer. “This thing seems to me to be like a marriage—in which the seal of the bond goes on before anything definite is known of the parties’ real character.” The formation of a new firm to handle the business lost by Hathorn’s sudden and egoistic plunge into matrimony was the matter under discussion. “It seems to me, Madame,” said the sagacious Alynton, “that if you intend to put this young man into such a place of grave trust, there should be another partner, provided, one acceptable to our side, and—if possible—one known to me. And we must not, moreover, have a mere tyro. I should like to approve one name in the new firm—if you select the other.” “Be it so,” gravely said the Lady of Lakemere. “I will only say for Mr. Vreeland, that I know all of the secrets of the life of his late unfortunate father, and of the son’s manly actions in closing up all his father’s scattered affairs. I will back him with all the money needed, and, also, guarantee his good faith, provided he alone controls such ‘private business’ as is handled through me. Judge Endicott has told me nothing new of the elder Vreeland. I think I can suggest a plan to find the other man whom we want, or else a firm already in existence, which will commend itself to you, Senator. Let us advertise, guardedly, for a partner.” With a sigh, Hiram Endicott drew Conyers out of the room, and while Senator Alynton yielded to the dark-eyed lady’s most ingenious plan, the old lawyer, under the trees, dejectedly said, “Conyers! there is again the woman enigma! A woman with heart certainly needs no head. And—a woman with a head should be heartless. “The one can only be happy in being deluded, it seems—and the other can be properly left to coldly play the game of life in safety—and then smile at her dupes. This dear woman, unfortunately, has _both_ head and heart, and so, _she must suffer_. “This young fellow’s fine eyes have done the business—his mellow, pleading voice carries the day. To be first favorite—vice Hathorn, discharged—Vreeland, promoted from the ranks!” While Senator David Alynton, a cool, gray-eyed young millionaire wearer of the toga, a senator _à la mode_, listened to Elaine Willoughby’s earnest arguments, he forgot that he was but forty years of age. Though he was often an official listener to secrets in the marble capitol which might make or break the future of the Sugar Trust, he was also a _raffiné_ man of the modern world—a luxury-lover—fond of money, and of its concrete power. He knew, too well, that Elaine Willoughby was “game” to back her own candidate with a fortune as great as his own.