She talked easily, wisely, giving the wounded hopes of Mrs. Thorstad a chance to get over their first bleeding, giving her a chance to get her hopes fixed a little on that political future which, although she was apparently not to be made delegate at large, still loomed ahead. She suggested that Mrs. Thorstad should surely be at the Convention in some capacity. And she went on, telling of the Washington leaders, the section leaders, of the general plans for work and education in politics among women. Then she spoke of Freda. “Is she going to stay here after all? I do hope so.” “Well, I go home to-morrow. Mrs. Flandon has been interested in Freda’s staying. She thought there must be things Freda could do here and Freda wants to stay. Freda doesn’t typewrite but at the Republican headquarters there may be a place for her. Mr. Flandon has promised to speak to the chairman about taking Freda on as secretary. At first there’d be only a certain small amount of correspondence but later they say they could put her in the campaign headquarters. I must go back to Mohawk. Freda stays for a day or so at Mrs. Brownley’s--then if she takes this position, Mrs. Flandon will help her find a place to live. It’s extremely kind of all of you to be so interested in Freda.” “She’s a very wonderful young person. I only hope she gets more interested in us.” “She has all the irresponsibility of youth,” said her mother, sententiously. “Oh, by the way,” said Margaret, “I promised to lend your Freda a book. Here it is.” She took a book from the table and gave it to Mrs. Thorstad who eyed it a little questioningly. “It’s very stimulating if not altogether sound,” said Margaret. “So much of our literature is that.” The older woman compressed her lips a little. “Not that I am not a Modern. But we are a little inclined to lose sight of the fact that our fathers and mothers--” This time her little platform manner was interrupted by the ringing of the house phone. Margaret spoke into it, briefly. “Why, yes, I’m nearly ready. I didn’t realize it was so late. No, indeed not. Come in and wait for me.” “Don’t hurry, Mrs. Thorstad,” she added, hanging up the receiver. “Mr. Carpenter can wait.” But Mrs. Thorstad did hurry. And as she went out she met Walter Carpenter going in. She gave him her reserved little bow. The two Thorstads were still at the Brownley house. The visit had turned out so much better than Freda had feared that two weeks had slipped away quickly for her while her mother was working and planning and making speeches to small clubs and circles along the lines her hostess desired. Freda was out with Allison Brownley on this particular afternoon and the two guest rooms were empty as Mrs. Thorstad entered them.