He had been an obscure Congressman of fiery political rectitude when he had met Rhoda Armond. She, and her group, and the circumstances the Armond connection had conjured for him, had made him into a statesman. Or was it only that they had made it possible for him to plant his own standards on the heights? At any rate, he owed her something, he thought. She was his wife, even though her attitude toward him was that of a director of destinies. She had given him, after all, what he had desired from her. She had made the upward road smooth, and she had dowered him with loyal faith in his ability. It wasn’t fair to compare her attitude toward him with Dell’s. He had never given to Rhoda what he had given Dell. Poor little Dell! But what good could he do her now by going to her? Twenty-five years would have changed her as they had changed him. They had had their day, and the sun of it had set long since. “I won’t go; I can’t,” he said, and turned back to the work on his desk, not looking up until his wife entered the room. She came, a tall, consciously beautiful woman, bringing with her an aroma of power as subtle and as pervasive as the perfume of her toilet. She gave to Stroude the greeting of a perfunctory kiss on his brow, and stood off for his admiration. It was, however, not the product of her personality as much as her satisfaction in the work which struck him as he watched her. Rhoda’s thought of herself as well as of him was that of a sculptor of his masterpieces. Stroude accepted it with the affectionate tolerance of a long marital relationship, feeling somehow sorrier for Rhoda than she would ever feel for herself, since she would never know what she had missed from life. “I was playing your game to-night,” she told him. “Isn’t it yours too?” he smiled. “In a way, yes,” she acknowledged, “but this involved real sacrifice and I want reward. I went to the theatre with the Covingers.” “Was the play deadly?” “No, but the Covingers are.” “He isn’t a bad sort, and----” “Oh, I know that he’ll have the delegation from his state, and that it’s one of the big states; but oh, my dear, have you ever had to listen to his wife?” “She isn’t so terrible, Rhoda.” “Oh, of course, if you will look at people as characters rather than as social factors, you won’t see the awfulness of the Mrs. Covingers of Washington. But really----” “Did Manning hint at why he had to see me to-night?” “At nothing but the importance of seeing you. He is bringing he said, Mr. Laflin and Senator Wilk.” “He probably said Senator Wilk and Mr. Laflin, but you know the field well enough to put them in the order of their importance. Laflin’s the new factor, a shrewd wolf raised in a wild forest.” “Does it mean”--she leaned forward, tapping the table with her fan in eagerness--“that they are going to ask you to take the nomination?” “They haven’t the entire giving of it, my dear.”