Anne nodded, and the man said, "Of course I know the reason. It's Boone."
"Yes." The admission was disarmingly frank. "It's Boone. I've just had a letter from him. He won his race for the legislature and now he's laying down his lines of campaign for the bigger prize of the congressional race next time."
Morgan's smile was innocent of grudge-bearing. "I know. I wired congratulations this morning. Of course his race was really won when he came out of the primaries victorious."
Anne reflected that in the old days Morgan would have spoken differently, and in a less generous spirit. To him a contest for a legislative seat from a rough hill district must appear almost trivial, and for the victor his personal rancour might have left no room for congratulation. He himself had, in a larger battle, just won more conspicuous prizes of reputation and power, and yet the heartiness of his tone as he spoke of Boone's little success was sincere and in no sense marred by any taint of the perfunctory.
"It was rather handsome of Boone to go back there and throw his hat into the ring," he continued gravely. "He might have harvested quicker and showier results here, but he wanted to be identified with his own people. God knows they need a Progressive, in that benighted hinterland."
Anne's eyes mirrored her gratification, but before she could give it expression the car stopped.
"What!" exclaimed Morgan; "are we here already?" He opened the door and helped her out, but as he stood on the sidewalk with his hat raised he added in a note of unalterable resolve:
"I don't want to persecute and pursue you, Anne, but the day will come—perhaps the forty thousand and ninety-sixth time of asking—when you'll say 'Yes.' Meanwhile I can wait—since I must. One thing I cannot and will not do; give you up."
"Good-bye," she smiled. "And thank you for the lift."
Morgan turned to the car again and said crisply to the driver: "Straight to the office. I sha'n't stop for lunch now."