“My friend, the politician,” she said, shaking hands. “I am glad to see you.”
“I echo the sentiment,” he said. “Where have you been? I missed you lately from your usual haunts.”
“The Tattler knows me no more. I have a magazine of my own.”
“And doing well, I sincerely hope,” remarked Mr. Connors.
“Largely experimental yet,” said Olivia. “I fear I shall have to educate the public up to the point of appreciating fearlessness. I am the freest lance today in the whole of New York.”
“I am glad of it,” said the politician. “Society needs a mirror in whose sharp reflection it may know itself.”
“People at first,” said Olivia, “were pleased, then amazed; now they are mad. But they read every line, and from the remonstrances I note in other quarters, I am satisfied that my object is being accomplished.”
“Where are you going?” said he. “May I accompany you, so that we may finish this delightful chat? You attract me. Now don’t imagine I am paying you some silly compliment. We both know too much for that. But there is something exceedingly refreshing in your society, especially for one who, like me, has run the gauntlet of ambition and emotion.”
“One good turn deserves another,” remarked his companion. “I frankly admit that your society is agreeable to me. While you are a politician, you never fail to admit the truth. But I cannot let you go with me. I am on a mission of mercy.”
“That spoils all of good you previously said,” insisted Connors. “Do you think that in the whirl of politics, I have lost all heart, and so am unfitted to be your companion, upon a deed of goodness?”