"Oh, you master of the art of love-making!" she cried. Pique mingled with mirth in her tone. "First, you propose to me in the midst of the mob; then you propose to me, bursting in like a messenger-boy, and yonder the Governor of this State, with anxious head out of his carriage window, scowling because you don't come along! Admirable occasions for pledging passion and life-long devotion! Dear Harlan, your ingenuity must be puzzled by this time. I'll make a suggestion: fly over our house in a balloon and shout your declaration down the chimney. I'll sit in the fireplace from two to four, afternoons." "I'll not be put off!" he cried. "You shall be put out, and I'll do it!" Laughing, she took him by his arm and led him out into the hall. Protesting, he went. "I have some respect for the feelings of our Governor on a chilly afternoon, even if you haven't. You are excused from our little dinner. Go, now, Harlan. I'm serious." "There's one thing you have given me," he said, red, half-angry, and thoroughly subdued, "and that's the promise that I may take you to the legislative ball. That's to-morrow night--and we'll see!" He bolted out upon the steps. "Delightful!" she cried after him. "What an opportunity the stage of City Hall will afford for another!" She shut the door before he could reply. The Governor rallied him a bit on his disturbed looks as they rode on, but Harlan was in no mood to relish jokes on that subject. Governor Waymouth had no other guests at dinner. He did not broach his business until they were seated in the little parlor of the modest mansion. The room had been converted into a study. "To date the session has hardly been what you hoped--perhaps that's too strong a word--what you expected it would be, has it?" inquired the Governor, his earnestness showing that he was ready to begin. He did not wait for a reply.