Mr. Mix stood and gaped at her. Underground politician that he was, he knew that Mirabelle had utterly destroyed the half of his ambition. She had made him a laughing-stock, a buffoon, a political joke. To think that his name was connected with a crusade against short-skirts and dancing--Ugh! Not even the average run of church-goers would swallow it. "Mayor!" he thought bitterly. "President of Council! I couldn't get elected second deputy assistant dog-catcher!" Aloud, he said slowly: "I'm afraid it was premature, that's all." "Oh, no, it wasn't! You've no _idea_ how people are talking about it." "Oh, yes, I have," said Mr. Mix, but he hadn't the temerity to put a sarcastic stress on it. He was wondering whether, if he issued a statement to assure the public that what was in those pamphlets was pure idealism, and not to be taken as his outline of any immediate campaign, he could remove at least the outer layer of the bad impression, and save his amendment from the wreck. He had thought, earlier, that he wouldn't need that amendment as a personal weapon against Henry, but the value of it had appreciated by the possibility of losing it. As to the state-wide law, Mr. Mix was totally unconcerned. "Oh, yes, I have," he said. "Don't get too conceited, though, Theodore. The _best_ part of it was mine." Mr. Mix's eagle eye saw a loophole. "You don't think I'm going to take praise for what belongs to _you_, do you?" he demanded. "Why--" "No, sir!" said Mr. Mix. "Not exactly. I'm going to tell the truth about it at our next meeting, and I'm going to send a statement to the _Herald_." "Oh, it doesn't matter." "It matters to me. Maybe I'm too finicky, but that's the kind of man I am." "You're too generous," she murmured. Mr. Mix wiped away a stray bead of perspiration, and breathed more freely. With Mirabelle's money to back him, and the stigma of those two pamphlets removed, perhaps he had a fighting chance for the mayoralty yet. * * * * * It was a house-wedding, with very few guests, no decorations, and perfectly digestible refreshments. When the last of the party had gone down the steps, Mirabelle, in a travelling-suit which was new in comparison with the rest of her wardrobe, approached the bridegroom. "Theodore, I want you to have your gift before we start. I don't want you to feel too dependent on me. Maybe after next month I'll make some kind of a settlement on you, but that's neither here nor there. So ... take it, and I hope it's what you wanted." He took it, and his fingers trembled. A check? And for what generous amount? "_Well_--aren't you going to thank me?"