She made a rudimentary movement as if to throw her arms around him, but it came to nothing. Her voice, however, carried a mighty appeal to Tom's heart. He looked at her, and thought how commonplace other young women were when compared with her. “You will withdraw, won't you, Tom?” she prayed. One of her hands touched his arm. “Say yes, Tom.” For a moment his political ambition and his standing with men appeared to dissolve into a mere mist, a finely comminuted sentiment of love; but he kept a good hold upon himself. “I cannot do it, Phyllis,” he said, in a firm voice, which disclosed by some indescribable inflection how much it pained him to refuse. “My whole future depends upon success in this race. I am sorry it is your father I must beat, but, Phyllis, I must be nominated. I can't afford to sit down in your father's shadow. As sure as you live, I am going to beat him.” In her heart she was proud of him, and proud of this resolution that not even she could break. From that moment she was between the millstones. She loved her father, it seemed to her, more than ever, and she could not bear the thought of his defeat. Indeed, with that generosity characteristic of the sex which can be truly humorous only when absolutely unconscious of it, she wanted both Tom and the Colonel nominated, and both elected. She was the partisan on Tom's side, the adherent on her father's. Colonel Sommerton returned on the day before the convention, and found his friends enthusiastic, all his “fences” in good condition, and his nomination evidently certain. It followed that he was in high good-humor. He hugged Phyllis, and in a casual way brought up the thought of how pleasantly they could spend the winter in Atlanta when the Legislature met. “But Tom--I mean Mr. Bannister--is going to beat you, and get the nomination,” she archly remarked. “If he does, I'll deed you Sommerton Place!” As he spoke he glared at her as a lion might glare at thought of being defeated by a cub. “To him and me?” she inquired, with sudden eagerness of tone. “If he---” “Phyllis!” he interrupted, savagely, “no joking on that subject. I won't---” “No; I'm serious,” she sweetly said. “If he can't beat you, I don't want him.” “Zounds! Is that a bargain?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and bent down so that his eyes were on a level with hers. “Yes,” she replied; “and I'll hold you to it.” “You promise me?” he insisted. “A man must go ahead of my papa,” she said, putting her arms about the old gentleman's neck, “or I'll stay by papa.” He kissed her with atrocious violence. Even the knee-sag of his trousers suggested more than ordinary vigor of feeling. “Well, it's good-bye, Tom,” he said, pushing her away from him, and letting go a profound bass laugh. “I'll settle him to-morrow.” “You'll see,” she rejoined. “He may not be so easy to settle.” He gave her a savage but friendly cuff as they parted.