The forest broke, opening into a clearing. He stood to drink in its beauty, for the sun, peeping over a saddle in the hills, had painted the place a valley of gold and russet. And while he waited there came out of the woods beyond, into that splendid setting, the vision that was in his mind. He was not surprised that his eyes were playing him tricks. This was after all the proper frame for the picture of his golden sweetheart. Lance-straight and slender, his wood nymph waded knee deep through the ferns. Straight toward him she came, and his temples began to throb. A sylph of the woods should be diaphanous. The one he saw was a creature of color and warmth and definiteness. Life, sweet and mocking, flowed through her radiantly. His heart sang within him, for the woman he loved out of a world of beautiful women was coming to him, light-footed as Daphne, the rhythm of the morning in her step. She spoke, commonplace words enough. “Last night I heard you were here.” “And I didn't know you were within a thousand miles.” “We came back to Verden Thursday and are up over Sunday,” she explained. He was lost in the witchery of the spell she cast over him. Not the drooping maidenhair ferns through which she trailed were more delicate or graceful than she. But some instinct in him played surface commonplaces against the insurgent emotion of his heart. “You like Washington?” “I like home better.” “But you were popular at the capital. I read a great deal in the papers about your triumphs.” The dye in her cheeks ran a little stronger. There had been much gossip about a certain Italian nobleman who had wooed her openly and madly. “They told a lot of nonsense.” “And some that wasn't nonsense.” “Not much.” She changed the subject lightly. “You read all about the wedding, of course.” He quoted. “Miss Alice Frome as maid of honor preceded the bride, appearing in a handsome gown of very delicate old rose satin with an overdress of--” “Very good. You may go to the head of the class, sir. Valencia was beautiful and your cousin never looked more handsome.” “Which is saying a good deal.” “And we're all hoping they will live happy ever after.” “You know he is being talked of for United States Senator already.” “You will oppose him?” she asked quickly. “I shall have to.” “Still an irreconcilable.” Her smile could be vivid, and just now it was. “Still a demagogue and a trouble maker,” he admitted. “You've won the recall and the direct primary since I left.” “Yes. We've been busy.” “And our friends--how are they?” “You should see Jefferson Davis Farnum Miller. He's two months old and as fat as a dumpling.” “I've seen him. He's a credit to his godfather.” “Isn't he? That's one happy family.” “I wonder who's to blame for that,” she said, the star flash in her eyes. “Nellie told you?” “She told me.” “They exaggerate. Nobody could have done less than I.” “Or more.” She did not dwell upon the subject. “Tell me about Mr. Marchant.”