“Do you remember what old Dr. Samuel Johnson said about music, Dan?” she asked lightly. “I was thinking of it just now. He said that it excited no new ideas in his mind, and prevented him from contemplating his own.” “Very like him,” said Daniel. “He never saw anything but his own ideas. I’ll admit that it stops me from contemplating mine--I contemplate you instead.” Virginia laughed gaily this time. “I shall play for you no more, then. Your ideas are worth too much. Lucas told me this morning, as we drove out from town, that Judge Jessup expects you to be ‘Pres’dent United States, yessuh.’” Daniel reddened. “I wish the judge wouldn’t make me appear such a fool. He’s always talking; he’s like your old Samuel Johnson.” “I think he knows what he’s talking about, Dan,” she replied gently, her serious eyes on his thin face. “You’re working too hard; ambition’s eating you up. Why, Dan, how thin you’ve grown!” He smiled. “I know it. The judge asked me, not long ago, if I had the pip.” They both laughed this time. “Daniel,” said Virginia irrelevantly, “I heard you were going into politics. Mr. Payson told me that you were standing for nomination for the Legislature.” He nodded, regarding her thoughtfully. “It seems strange, Dan,” she observed after a moment. “I never thought you cared for that sort of thing.” “What sort of thing, Virginia?” “Politics.” She paused and smiled at him a little, her color rising. “I thought you were a kind of poet.” “You’re thinking of Leigh; he’s our infant genius. I’m only a stodgy lawyer.” Daniel leaned back in his chair, thinking. His eyes, traveling over Virginia’s bright head, rested suddenly on a little portrait of a baby boy that hung above her piano in an oval frame. He recognized it with a grim tightening of the lips. It was an old picture of William at the tender age of three. His mother had given it to Virginia when she thought Virginia was to be William’s wife. Doubtless it was an awkward thing to give back, and perhaps--Daniel did not finish the thought. “I’m going into politics if I can,” he said dryly. “I’ve got to have some interest, Virginia. A cripple can’t sit still and think about being a cripple.” “I wish you wouldn’t dwell so much on that,” she rejoined quickly. “You think too much of it.” “But I don’t speak of it often,” he replied bitterly. “I try to hold my tongue.” “You scarcely ever speak of it, Daniel,” she assured him gently. “I’m glad you spoke of it to me, though. I take it as a compliment.” “Why?” He spoke sharply, his brows down. Virginia gave him a clear, sweet look that made him wince with misery--though she did not know it. “Because I’m sure you wouldn’t speak of it at all if you didn’t believe that I felt for you; that I was your friend.” He drew a quick breath, pressing his lips together. There was a moment of silence; then he laughed discordantly.