Ware had finished his story, and sat staring into the crackling fire. At last he turned toward Sylvia. In the glow of the desk lamp her face was white, and she gazed with unseeing eyes at the inscription in the book.
The silence was still unbroken when a few minutes later Mrs. Ware came in with Harwood, whom she had met in the street and brought home to dinner.
Dan was full of the situation in the legislature, and the table talk played about that topic.
"We're sparring for time, that's all, and the people pay the freight! The deadlock is clamped on tight. I never thought Thatcher would prove so strong. I think we could shake loose enough votes from both sides to precipitate a stampede for Ramsay, but he won't hear to it. He says he wants to do the state one patriotic service before he dies by cleaning out the bosses, and he doesn't want to spoil the record by taking the senatorship himself. Meanwhile Bassett stands fast and there's no telling when he'll break through Thatcher's lines."
"Thatcher was here to see me to-day—the third time. He won't come back. You know what he's after?" said Ware.
"Yes; I understand," Dan answered.
"There won't be anything of that kind, will there, Dan?"
Dan shrugged his shoulders, and glanced at Sylvia and Mrs. Ware.
"Mrs. Ware knows about it; I had to tell her," remarked the minister, chuckling. "When Ed Thatcher makes two calls on me in one week, and one of them at midnight, there's got to be an explanation. And Sylvia heard him raving before I showed him out this afternoon."
Sylvia's plate was untouched; her eyes searched those of the man who loved her before she spoke.