The clock on the mantel was striking half-past ten when Jack herself heard the noise of a horse galloping toward the house. It was she who walked quietly to an already open window and stretched forth her hand to receive the telegram.
"This telegram comes from Cheyenne, I suppose it will be official and we shall know the best or the worst," she announced. Then opening it she read aloud:
"Victory conceded to Peter Stevens. Better luck next time."
Afterwards, in the brief silence which followed, Frieda Russell burst into tears.
"But, Frieda," Jack expostulated, slipping an arm about her sister and smiling as she faced the group of people gazing directly at her, "I thought you wanted me to be defeated. You have never wished for anything else." She turned to the others. "I can only say that I am deeply grateful for everybody's kindness, yet the voters of Wyoming probably have acted wisely. All women may not need longer preparation before holding public office, but I am afraid I do. Now if you will pardon me, I confess I am tired and would like to say good-night."
Running swiftly upstairs, Jacqueline Kent paused for an instant outside her former guardian's door. She had been staying in the big house during his illness.
"Is that you, Jack?" a voice asked instantly. "Well, what is the news?"
"I was defeated, Jim. Peter Stevens is the next Congressman from Wyoming."
"Well, Jack, I'd hate to tell you how glad I am. Are you very deeply disappointed?"
"No, Jim, I am not. I believe I feel relieved. But please don't tell other people. Good-night."