Selma, as she faced Lyons, was conscious necessarily of the contrast between him and her late husband. But she was attuned to regard his coarser physical fibre as masculine vigor and a protest against aristocratic delicacy, and to derive comfort and exaltation from it. "Mr. Lyons," she said, "I will tell you frankly that the circumstances of married life have hitherto hampered the expression of that which is in me, and confined the scope of my individuality within narrow and uncongenial limits. I am not complaining; I have no intention to rake up the past; but it is proper you should know that I believe myself capable of larger undertakings than have yet been afforded me, and worthy of ampler recognition than I have yet received. If I accept you as a husband, it will be because I feel confident that you will give my life the opportunity to expand, and that you sympathize with my desire to express myself adequately and to labor hand in hand, side by side, with you in the important work of the world." "That is what I would have you do, Selma. Because you are worthy of it, and because it is your right." "On that understanding it seems that we might be very happy." "I am certain of it. You fill my soul with gladness," he cried, and seizing her hand he pressed it to his lips and covered it with kisses, but she withdrew it, saying, "Not yet--not yet. This step represents so much to me. It means that if I am mistaken in you, my whole life will be ruined, for the next years should be my best. We must not be too hasty. There are many things to be thought of. I must consider Mr. Parsons. I cannot leave him immediately, if at all, for he is very dependent on me." "I had thought of that. While Mr. Parsons lives, I realize that your first duty must be to him." The reverential gravity of his tone was in excess of the needs of the occasion, and Selma understood that he intended to imply that Mr. Parsons would not long need her care. The same thought was in her own mind, and it had occurred to her in the course of her previous cogitations in regard to Lyons, that in the event of his death it would suit her admirably to continue to occupy the house as its real mistress. She looked grave for a moment in her turn, then with a sudden access of coyness she murmured, "I do not believe that I am mistaken in you." "Ah," he cried, and would have folded her in his arms, but she evaded his onset and said with her dramatic intonation, "The knights of old won their lady-loves by brilliant deeds. If you are elected a member of Congress, you may come to claim me."