"Some of the meanest things the Times has ever printed about him were my thoughts," she said proudly. "But it has never printed a lie!"
"Ah, that must be something worth while," I commented admiringly, for my ideas concerning women and their possible achievements are strictly modern. "I should like to be the power behind the revolving-chair."
I see already that the above paragraph contradicts itself, for being the power behind things is as old as Eve; but then, the prerogative of contradicting oneself belongs by rights to her daughters.
"Do you care for politics any more than you used to?" Cousin Eunice asked hopefully.
"Politics and mathematics were ever of equal interest to me," I was bound to acknowledge. "But I have been able to understand a little about the primary plan this summer—father's taught me. And I know that the 'machine gang' is always the other fellows!"
"Well, that's a brilliant start," said a sarcastic male voice from the other side of the hedge, and Rufe's amused face rose up to our confusion. Without waiting for invitation he came through and sat down on the grass beside us.
"Well, she'd enjoy some of our politicians, wouldn't she?" Cousin Eunice asked Rufe as she moved over farther to give him more room, for the althea branches were wide and thick, and entangled themselves in our hair persistently. "Whether she cares for politics or no, eh?"
"Oh, she'd lose her head over Chalmers," Rufe acquiesced as indifferently as the male relative of a girl always shows in discussing "possible" men. "Lord Byron is as a comic valentine compared with him in looks."
"Richard Chalmers," I repeated. "I've seen his name in the paper often, but I don't know exactly what he is."
"Neither does any one else," Rufe answered meaningly. "He's a rich young lawyer—inherited his money—and so shrewd that he's not going to join the Appleton forces, no matter what pretentions they make to get him on their side." He spoke as if he were arguing the question.