Lenox laughed. "You've caught me there, haven't you? I am condemned for being still in the stage where I am content to mention things with indignation. However, if you have really gone so far, I'm more than willing to trail after you. I'll at least back you with a few facts, such as every business man knows, and I'm good for a substantial contribution toward any campaign you may undertake. And what I do there are others who will do, too." "I'll not forget your promise," said Dick. As usual, when men talk public affairs, the women had been content to listen, but Madeline's temperament was too strong for her restraint. "It's all very well for you to put your hand in your pocket, Mr. Lenox," she cried, "but I don't want to hear you trying to undermine Dick's idealism. If he does not have the comfort of some purpose higher than the daily fight, how can he endure it? Don't persuade him to run through life on all fours and never look at the stars." Mr. Lenox looked at her warmly. "Thank the Lord for you women," he said. "You do not forget that there are stars and sky above the city smoke. If it were not for you and your kind, I'm afraid most of the world would be tied to the ground like serfs." "Oh, I fancy nature has liberated a few of you, and I am glad to believe that Dick is among the free," she said. She sat beside Dick, but she turned from him and spoke to Mr. Lenox. When Percival, softened by her words and the tone of belief in which they were spoken, looked up, he saw, not her eyes, but, across the table, those of Lena, big and sympathetic. As he gazed into them he saw all of Madeline's confidence in him, all of Madeline's ideals, but the more spiritual, the more feminine, because they were unspoken. Lena's eyes were eloquent even if she was silent; internally she was really resenting Madeline's tone, which seemed to her to assume that Dick was somehow Miss Elton's particular property. "Perhaps you needn't be so sure, missy," she thought. [Illustration: "You look like incarnate song"--Page 199] After dinner, when the three men found their way to the drawing-room, Mrs. Lenox had started Madeline on a career of song. She was already in the midst of a curious weird Roumanian thing, and Norris made straight for the piano. Lena, ethereal in pale blue, was sympathetically listening to perfection. She had lost her look of incongruity with her surroundings. The dreamy eyes and the transparent skin found their setting in her filmy gown and the rich soft light. Dick drew in his breath. He seemed never to get used to her. Naturally he found a seat near her. She was his protégée. "Don't you sing, Miss Quincy?" was his inevitable query. And she replied with inward anguish, "Not at all." "But I'm sure you do. You look like incarnate song," he persisted. "You're playing modest." Lena cast down her eyes and said, "I am a very truthful little girl." "Have you had a good time here?"