"Indeed I don't. He's not so forbearing."
"You know he'll not print them now," repeated Jane. "He'd not be so foolish. Every one would forget to ask whether what he said about you was true or false. They'd think only of how ungenerous and ungrateful he was. He wouldn't be either. But he'd seem to be—and that comes to the same thing." She glanced mockingly at Hull. "Isn't that your calculation?"
"You are too cynical for a woman, Jane," said Davy. "It's not attractive."
"To your vanity?" retorted Jane. "I should think not."
"Well—good-by," said Davy, taking his hat from the rail. "I've got a hard evening's work before me. No time for dinner."
"Another terrible sacrifice for public duty," mocked Jane.
"You must be frightfully out of humor with yourself, to be girding at me so savagely," said Davy.
"Good-by, Mr. Mayor."
"I shall be—in six weeks."
Jane's face grew sombre. "Yes—I suppose so," said she. "The people would rather have one of us than one of their own kind. They do look up to us, don't they? It's ridiculous of them, but they do. The idea of choosing you, when they might have Victor Dorn."