that they were eloping, had almost proved disastrous to her fortitude. They did do the silliest things and have the funniest times together.

Cynthia was feeling very tenderly toward Brian as the car slowed its way into South Capitol Street. In accordance with her custom, she looked reverently out and up at the imposing edifice, shining whitely down through the elms. It wasn't entirely out of veneration for government, for John's office was there three stories up, in the corner of the left wing, to be exact. There was always a chance that he might be looking out of the window, although he couldn't possibly see her.

The building looked rather like him, she thought-tall and quietly dominant. She could be shoulder to shoulder with John-not physically of course-she smiled at an involuntary movement to raise herself on tip-toe. She could think with him, work with him-he had told her so. And she could help to make him the Power he wanted to be. She capitalized the word consciously, in a little thrill of joy at the thought of attaining great things with a great man.

-But then, only last night Brian had confided in her that he had sold his first story. "A stupid little thing with no plot," he said. She had read it, and knew differently. In one place it had almost taken her breath away. She sighed again.

There came a little vagrant wish to keep them both. She let it linger for a moment with the guilty delight of a child who contemplates the seizure of two pieces of candy, instead of one. She knew that she couldn't have both-but it would be nice. Then she thought of something, and closed her mind against the fancy with a click.

Only the day before Brian had offended her deeply by a facetious suggestion that she marry him first, and after two years or so he wasn't very exact about the time—he'd go in for aviation. John would never have said a thing like that.

Cynthia closed her eyes and looked into her heart. They both hung balanced there, with nothing to break the poise. She wondered if it would always be that way, and suddenly she had a feeling closely akin to panic. She wanted something -she didn't know what-that neither of them had yet given

her.

She wanted one of them-it didn't matter which-to do or say something that the other couldn't make up for the next evening. Something impalpable, but vital. There was no imagining what it might be, but she wanted it with all her wavering, irresolute heart. It had to be decided soon-things were getting to be pretty well unbearable now. And before she opened her eyes, her wish had resolved itself into a wistful, half-agonized little prayer.

They were downtown now, and the car made its way cannily through the obstinate noonday traffic and drew up beside the curb opposite Sibley's. There was an invidious traffic regulation to the effect that vehicles could stand only on the west side of the street, between the hours of twelve and

one.

Cynthia glanced at the little clock, blinking out from the upholstered cowl. She'd have to hurry if she was to order that suit before meeting Jean. The obelisk on the front seat sprang into being, and opened the door. Sedulously attempting to crowd her worries back into a compartment of her mind where she left them, when obvious things, such as the selection of a spring wardrobe, presented themselves, she stepped primly out and turned to cross the street. For a moment she hesitated, alarmed at the seething traffic. That was strange, she thought, but then her mind was in such a hopeless jumble that she could hardly wonder at anything.

She paused again in the middle of the street to let a trolley pass, and then started across directly behind it, her eyes straight ahead. Suddenly there came the harsh, imperious signal of an electric horn. Cynthia glanced up quickly at the black bulk of an approaching limousine, and started forward with accelerated step, but an impetuous little roadster was wriggling its way along close to the curb, sounding a fretful warning as it went. Frightened, she stepped back, stopping just in time to avoid a street car going in the opposite direction. A crazy motorcyclist veered sharply to the right.

She was pocketed, with no way out, and the driver of the limousine, with beautiful nonchalance, continued to urge the car nearer and nearer. She tried to reassure herself that there was no danger-of course there really was but very little

but her attempt at composure failed utterly. She advanced and retreated alternately, to the shrill delight of a newsboy on the curb.

Then the limousine stopped quietly. Head up, and inwardly raging at making such an awkward figure of herself, Cynthia passed in front of it, took the opening left by the runabout, and reached the sidewalk, almost breathless.

Two men, who had evidently seen her plight, hastened to meet her. At least one of them did. John was in advance, but she saw Brian first. What had been a laugh lingered in an amused smile at the corners of his mouth. A sudden resentment flamed up in her.

"Don't you think you'd better come down from the clouds and watch yo' step?" he inquired amiably.

She didn't answer him, for John was towering above her now, his hand grasping her arm with almost painful firmness, and looking up at him, she could hardly believe what she saw. His face was perfectly colorless. For a moment he didn't speak. Then

"That-that was quite a scare you gave us," he said quietly. Cynthia caught her breath in a sudden proud exultation at the sight of this man-this stalwart, steady man-who had gone pale on seeing her in danger, slight though it had been. All her emotions seemed to crystallize into something that filled her heart completely. It was what she wanted.

Presently she found her voice.

"It was nothing at all," she reassured him, with a bright smile. "I just lost all control. I must hurry now-I'll see you at five at tea ?"

He nodded.

"Better make it five-ten," he said. "I have a meetingShe turned to Brian. He had laughed.

"Would you mind just coming out to-night, instead of going to the theater?" she asked, a little too sweetly. "I'm sort of tired-"

He smiled his approval of the change in plans.

"I'd rather," he said. "I've a new dog to show you. But won't you lunch with us now?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm to meet Jean at one."

"They have wonderful steaks at Rae's," he pleaded. "Bring Jean along."

"I'm determined not to, thank you, sir. I have to shop first, and I'm late now."

Dogs! Steaks! At a time like this. She shuddered imperceptibly, and turned to John.

"Good-bye-John," she said. He found a look in her eyes that he had never seen before. It lingered for a moment, and then tried to vanish with her into the crowd. But he had caught it fast.

Cynthia hummed silly little airs, and laughed happily to herself during the hour she spent in dressing for tea that afternoon. Occasionally she paused, with a rapt expression, to think more deeply.

At exactly five-fifteen John was sitting across from her at a little wicker tea-table in the sunless sun-parlor, looking unbelievably handsome.

He was even more serious than usual, she thought—which was as it should be-then. It would be nice to watch the worried expression go from around his eyes, when she told him.

"What did Enders have to say?" she inquired, gravely, adding a little more hot water.

"He

"I talked with him for half an hour," he replied. came around all right, finally, and is all for it now. If we get Burton, the bill is pretty sure to go through. "I'm to see him to-morrow."

"Oh, John-that's just splendid," she exclaimed enthusiastically. "How in the world do you do it?"

"I don't. I just argue their way for a while, and get them to admit things-and then I sit back and watch them tie themselves up in knots. There's no comeback after that. And, Cynthia-"

"Yes, John?" spearing another slice of lemon.

"They want me to run for state legislature in the fall." She put her cup down quietly.

"You'll do it, of course?"

"You want me to?"

"Why, John-how silly of you-of course I do." "Why?"

"Because I want you to be where you should be, for—for the state, and those poor people up in the hills."

"Not-for you?" He shot the question at her quickly.

For a while she regarded her tea cup in preoccupied silence. Then she looked at him as she had that noon, bravely and surely.

"Yes, John," she said, softly, "for me, too."

He leaned forward eagerly.

"You mean-?"

She waited for a moment and then dropped her head, in breathless acquiescence. The only break in the stillness was a telephone ringing far back in the house. A door closed somewhere. Then she looked up startled.

"John," she warned, "the tea. O-Oh!"

His empty cup rolled indifferently under the table, and he had caught her up to him.

"Mine!" he said, his voice vibrant with possession.

"Yes," she breathed from the depths of his shoulder, nodding her head as well as she could, "-all."

"Dear," he said huskily, "you'll never, never regret it. I'll spend my whole life in making you happy. I'll work as I never have before. I'll-I'll try to do big things for you.' Big things, he said.

All the wavering and uncertainty of that dreadful month vanished before his kiss like a far-off candle-flame before the sun. If she wondered at all, she wondered how she could ever have doubted. It's a curious thing-the consummate, overwhelming joy that comes in complete surrender after long resistance.

They wandered into the living-room and sat, his arm around her, on the divan.

"We'll-we'll be married soon?" he asked, anxiously. She smiled happily.

"As soon as you want-only not in June. So many people do-July, maybe-"

"Your birthday is the last of May," he suggested. She thought for a little while.