Harlan understood the chairman's state of mind. Day by day he made his discourse with that gentleman as brief as possible, and he kept away from the Presson home. His action was dictated by a feeling of delicacy, in view of the father's sentiments. Presson treated him in business hours as a prisoner would treat his ball and chain. And Presson showed no desire to take that badge of his servitude home with him. Enduring Harlan in the committee headquarters strained his self-possession daily. So the young man lied brazenly in reply to the blandly courteous notes of invitation from Mrs. Presson, who continued alert to the promising social qualifications of General Waymouth's chief lieutenant. He pleaded work. It was true in a measure. The day was filled with duties to which he applied himself unflaggingly. But from the supper-table he hurried out each evening into the country, escaping from the city by the side streets, tramping miles of lane and highway and field. His muscles craved the exertion. The city oppressed him. His unwonted toil within four walls sapped his energy. One evening he stepped aside from the highway. A horse, trotting smartly, was overtaking him. But the horse did not pass him. It slowed down to his stride, and Madeleine Presson called him from her trap. She was alone. "As this is the campaign of 'honesty,' I'll be honest with you," she said. "This is not an accidental meeting. I have been guessing at the roads you might take, and have been on your trail for days. That's a bold confession for a girl to make; but I've got even a bolder request: please climb up here and ride." He climbed up. He went up with alacrity. From the first of their acquaintance the girl had interested him--and yet it was more than mere interest or feminine attraction. Her culture, her keen analysis of events and men, her knowledge of conditions informed and instructed him. Her subtle humor and droll insight into the characters of those who attempted to pose in the public eye entertained him, for he lacked humor. But, most of all, her satire gave him a truer perspective. Fresh from the north country, where his knowledge of public men had been limited to the information which newspapers had given him, he had classed them wrongly. His own gravity had given them too eminent qualities. The girl, knowing them, had pricked their assumptions with good-humored satire, and he looked at them again and found them as she said. As he sat beside her and the horse walked on, he was conscious that in avoiding her he had been depriving himself both of entertainment and valuable instruction. It was a rather selfish reflection, but he could not help it.