"Billy, how did you do it?" asked Lydia, in consternation. He had overtaken her one bitter cold January afternoon, on her way home from college.
"I didn't do much," said Billy. "I just got affidavits, dozens of them, showing frauds, and gave them to Senator Alvord. He has a lot of influence among the Democratic senators and is a personal friend of the President. It was a wonderful chance, he saw, to hurt the Republicans, even though there were Democrats implicated. The Indian Commissioner and Levine are both Republicans, you know. Then, when he finally got the hearing before the Senate Committee, he smuggled Charlie Jackson and Susie and old Chief Wolf down there. Nobody here knows that."
Lydia's lips were set tightly as she plodded along the snowy road.
"Billy," she said, finally, "are you doing this to get even with Dave
Marshall?"
"Lydia!" cried Billy, catching her arm and forcing her to stop and face him. "Don't you know me better than that? Don't you?"
"Then why are you doing it?" demanded Lydia.
"I'm doing it because I'm ashamed of what New Englanders have done with their heritage. And I'm doing it for you. To make a name for you. Look at me. No, not at the lake, into my eyes. You are going to marry me, some day, Lydia."
"I'm not," said Lydia flatly.
Billy laughed. "You can't help yourself, honey. It's fate for both of us. Come along home! You're shivering."
"When you talk that way, I hate you!" exclaimed Lydia, but Billy only laughed again.