Charles argued warmly. He was chagrined at the ease and decision with which the sure young woman brushed his arguments aside. Nor did the consciousness that she was probably sound in her positions soothe his masculine sense of the fitness of things at all. With a subtle loss of enthusiasm, he broached his second plan; and it too was summarily thrown out of court. That plan had called for an investigation of the "due cause" by the City Council—an intention attributed by the generous "Post" reporter to the well-known citizen, unnamed. Finding his supporting shoulder thus rejected, Charles demanded what was her plan, then. And it seemed that Mary's plan was merely to wait until May, when the terms of three members of the local Board expired (all of them Mysinger men), and then to see to it that these places were filled with men friendly to her.
The plan seemed to the young man so feeble and remote, so uncharacteristic and tame, as to indicate a certain indifference in her. He sat eyeing her a moment with intent speculation, and then said deliberately:—
"That's good enough for publication purposes, I suppose. But—you're thinking of something very different, aren't you?"
"Am I?—what do you suspect?" said Mary, continuing her labors of paper-sorting.
"It's occurred to me that you have rather a brilliant revenge up your sleeve all the time. What'll you care for little pigs like Mysinger, when you go off as General Secretary of the League?"
The self-contained young woman surprised him by throwing both arms above her head and saying, passionately. "If I only could! Oh, oh! If I only could!"
Charles's gaze became fixed. "But you're going to, aren't you?"
Her arms fell and she said, in another voice: "No, I don't think I'm going to land it, you see!"
"Not going to—! Why, I thought you were practically sure!"
"That's the worst of it—I was, for a few wild weeks. Now I'm positive I'm not."