Harlan had not recovered his self-possession, and the Governor surveyed him with some interest.
"Cares of State, young man?" he asked. "And the session still as calm as a millpond?"
"That cur of a Spinney has just insulted me—no politics, sir, but just plain, personal insult. Why, he went out of his way to do it!"
"You make much out of nothing if you allow that blatherskite to disturb you," said the Governor, with mild reproof. "Pay no attention to him. Now to my business with you! I'd like to have you dine with me this evening. I have some serious matters to talk over with you alone—and the executive chamber, here, is no place for a quiet talk."
Harlan hesitated a moment.
"Have you another engagement?"
"I was to dine with the Pressons."
"I am sorry to ask you to do it, my boy, but if it is merely a social engagement, will you not beg to be excused? I assure you that my business is such that it cannot well wait another twenty-four hours. I am ready to leave the State House now. We'll ride past the Presson door, and I'll wait while you present your regrets. Tell the fair Madeleine that duty calls." He smiled. "I hear interesting reports, young man. Again I say I'm sorry to keep you from your engagement, but Miss Presson has been near enough to politics to understand what a duty-call means. Come!"
The young man flushed. Reply failed him. He followed the Governor to his carriage. It was late afternoon, and the State House was emptying.
As Harlan ran up the steps of the Presson house, Spinney's ugly threat came to him. The man dealt in gossip. It was an incredible form of attack. It was slander of the innocent. He could not forewarn Madeleine Presson. That would be caddish.