Down-stairs, in spite of his fatigue, Anthony Graham walked up and down their big room for a quarter of an hour. If he only could have reconciled it with his conscience to do what Betty asked him, how much easier and how much more cheerful for both of them! She was right in saying that he owed something to her. He owed everything. It was not just that she had helped him since his marriage—most wives do that for their husbands—but she had helped him from that first hour of their meeting in the woods so many years before.
Nevertheless he had given his word to keep his faith as Governor of the state. He had promised to give no one a position because of pull and influence. Naturally he had not expected his wife to have any part in this, but only the politicians and seekers after graft. Yet even with Betty misunderstanding he must try to keep his word.
Sighing, the young Governor turned out the lights. He did look too boyish and delicate for the weight of his responsibilities tonight. For there had been other troubles in his office which he had wished to confide to his wife, had she only been willing to listen. However, he finally fell asleep somewhat comforted. For he was convinced that Betty was too sensible a woman not finally to see things in the light that he did. When he had the opportunity and she was neither tired nor vexed with him he would explain to her all over again.
An uncomfortable spirit, however, seemed to be brooding over the Governor's mansion this evening, for in another part of the big house, there was another argument also lasting far into the night.
Angel and Faith sat on either side an old-fashioned four-poster bed, often talking at the same time in the way that only feminine creatures can.
In her white cashmere kimono over her gown, with her pale hair unbound, Faith Barton looked like a little white saint. But alas, and in spite of her name, the little French girl bore no resemblance to one!
Angel's dark hair was extraordinarily heavy and curly but not very long, and now in her uneasiness she had pushed and pulled at it until it was extremely untidy. Moreover, her black eyes now and then flashed resentfully at her friend and two bright spots of color burned in her cheeks. When she was not talking her lips were pressed closely together.
"Faith, it isn't right of you; you know it isn't. You should not have made me promise to keep your secret before telling me it. How could I ever have guessed such a dreadful thing! I simply must, must tell Betty if you are not going to confide in Mrs. Barton. Then Betty can do what she thinks best and it will be off my conscience."
Certainly Angelique Martins was not speaking in an amiable tone, and yet her companion seemed not in the slightest disturbed.
Indeed, Faith began quietly brushing her long, straight hair.