The candidate did not speak again for several moments, but Mrs. Grayson read his expressive face.
"You have thought of something else," she said, "that is or seems to be connected with this affair of Sylvia's."
"I have, and I am afraid it is that which has been holding me back."
The eyes of the two met, and, although they said no more upon that point, they understood each other perfectly.
"Anna," said the candidate, with decision, "you must write to Mr. Plummer. I do not shift this burden from myself to you because of any desire to escape it, but because I know you will write the letter so much better than I can."
Her eyes met his again, and hers shone with admiration—he was not less brave than she had thought him.
"I do not know what will come of it," he said; "perhaps nothing, but in any event we ought to write it."
"I will write," she said, firmly.
The candidate said nothing more but he bent down and kissed his wife on the forehead.
When Jimmy Grayson returned from the drawing-room, they noticed that the frown was gone from his face, and at once there was a new atmosphere in the car. The sleepy politicians awoke and made new or old jokes; the correspondents ceased writing, and asked Mr. Grayson what he intended to put in his next speech. Obviously the current of life began to run full and free again, and the incomparable scenery gliding by their car-windows no longer passed without comment. But Mrs. Grayson, in the drawing-room, taking much thought and care, was writing this letter, which she addressed to Mr. Plummer, in Boisé, where she heard that he was going from Salt Lake City: