"And there's a wonderful psychology in light, so they who have studied the matter tell us," she said, mischief in her eyes. "But we'll not go so deeply into the matter. Let it be a light that will guide your footsteps to our rooms at train-time. You will find us awaiting our squire!"
General Waymouth excused himself as soon as the ladies had retired. The little group of men had promptly begun to canvass the outlook and plans, but he demurred politely when they desired to drag him into the discussion.
"Not yet, gentlemen! We have had enough of talk in the last few hours. Let me escape to the old brick house up in Burnside for a while. My train goes shortly. Will you accompany me, Harlan?" It was the first time he had used the young man's christian-name Harlan flushed with pleasure. "I will see that you get back here in good season to bring that guiding light," he murmured, to the other's confusion.
"I do not like to seem too exacting—too persistent in requiring your attendance," protested the General, as they returned along the corridor. The great hotel was nigh deserted. The delegates had hurried away on the convention specials. "But you have protected me from a great many annoyances, to put the situation mildly. I am calling you away now to make a very special request of you. We will speak of it on the way to the station."
Ranged in front of the door of his suite was the delegation from the temperance societies, patiently waiting, more saturnine than before.
The Reverend Mr. Prouty intercepted them with determination.
"I do not like to seem too persistent in this matter, but we feel that we have a right to a few moments of your time, sir. You are accepting public office, and—"
"I do not care to have any lessons in politics read to me, Mr. Prouty.
State your business."
"We prefer to see you in private."
"And I prefer to have you talk before a reliable witness. Mr. Thornton is such, and he is entirely in my confidence."