"Daniel doesn't seem to be coming," remarked Mrs. Owen. "He hardly ever misses a Sunday afternoon."
"He's working hard. I had no idea legislators had to work so hard," said Sylvia.
They sat in Mrs. Owen's office, which was cosier than the sitting-room, and the place where she seemed most comfortable. Since we looked at her desk last a file-hook has been added to its furniture, and on it hang impaled a few cuttings from agricultural newspapers. The content of these clippings will ultimately reach the "Courier's" readers,—there is no doubt of that, as Mrs. Owen and Mr. Atwill now understand each other perfectly. It was the first Sunday in March and a blustery day, with rain and sleet alternating at the windows and an impudent wind whistling in the chimneys. Hickory logs snapped pleasantly in the small fireplace that was a feature of the room. Sylvia had dined with her friend, and the day being of the sort that encourages confidences, they had prolonged their talk.
"When did you see Daniel last?" asked Mrs. Owen casually.
"Last night," replied Sylvia, meeting her friend's eyes easily. "He dropped in for a little while. He wanted to talk about his stand on that corporation bill."
"Well, he and Morton have broken up housekeeping. Daniel has climbed on to the other side of the breastworks."
Sylvia smiled. "Yes, that's about it. But I think he has acted quite finely about it."
"You mean he didn't jump on Morton as he might have done—didn't make a grand stand play of it?"
"Yes; he might have made capital for himself out of the corporation bill, but he didn't. He made his report without bringing personalities into it."
"And the bill was passed over the governor's veto! That was Morton's way of showing that he didn't need Daniel."