A few months ago the significance of it would have stirred him deeply, his keen political foresight would have shown him the greatest possibilities; now it was dead sea fruit. He knew that in a year, perhaps in less time, he must take a step which would inflict a sharp injury to his career, which would, perhaps, lose him his popularity forever. And a few weeks ago how differently the world had looked! Then such a victory as he might now easily win would have meant greater honor to offer to the girl he loved. His lips tightened and he bent to his work. He was still reading and signing letters when there was a knock at his door, and he opened it to admit Louis Berkman. Berkman had been away and, returning but a few days before, was not fully aware of the current gossip, but he had just heard of Fox’s achievement and came in with breezy congratulations. “My dear fellow, I always said you had it in you! Some day we shall get you in the White House!” Fox laughed a little bitterly. “It will be a long day, Berkman,” he said coolly; “the newspapers make a great deal of fuss over a small matter.” “Not at all! I just saw Wingfield, and you know he hasn’t much reason to love you; he told me that you’d be Secretary of State in three months.” Fox bit his lip. “Wingfield’s an old fool!” he retorted sharply. Berkman laughed. “Oh, I know about White, he’ll have to go; I’m jolly sorry on account of his wife, she’s no end of fun! What the devil has he been doing with that Osborne woman’s help? I heard in New York that she had sold information to Wall Street and something about our Navy to Japan.” “I don’t believe that!” said Fox flatly; “White hasn’t done that, it’s only meant as an attack on him of course. They say everything of Mrs. Osborne, they always have, and that dirty sheet in New York has published a lot of lies; it ought to be suppressed.” “Nevertheless White will go out; I hear that everywhere,” said Berkman obstinately; “and then you’ll come in.” Fox smiled with exceeding bitterness. “Then I shall not come in,” he retorted quietly; “I shan’t go into the Cabinet.” Something in his tone at last warned Berkman, and he colored deeply with embarrassment. Certain vague rumors took shape in his mind and he remembered suddenly Margaret’s mood after they had left Fox and Rose together in Rock Creek Park. He reached over and took a cigarette from the box on the table and lighted it to hide his confusion. “I believe you’re right,” he said, with assumed lightness of tone; “the Cabinet isn’t as brilliant an opportunity as the House. At any rate I congratulate you, my dear fellow, and I wish you all success.” Fox thanked him dryly and asked a few desultory questions about Berkman’s trip and his new book which was in press.