That Carolina must sacrifice Haines on the altar of her consuming desire for money, for a higher worldly position, was an unimportant consideration.  He stood in the way.  Any moment he might discover the existence of the Altacoola scheme, he would immediately tell her father, and she knew her father would immediately decide against Altacoola—­the bright hopes of her future would turn to ashes.  Norton’s money as well was invested in Altacoola.  He, too, would be ruined.  She was sure that she loved Norton, but she could not marry a penniless man.

Carolina resumed the conversation.

“It isn’t anything so very important, Mr. Haines.  It’s about father.”

Haines beamed.

“I have the honor to report, Miss Langdon,” he bowed, “that your father is making the very best kind of a Senator.”

The girl hesitated.

“Yes; he might, if he had some ambition.”

“Don’t worry!  If it comes down to that, I have ambition for two.  You want him to be a success, don’t you?  Well, he is the biggest kind of a success.”

“I never believed that he would be,” confessed the daughter.

Haines laughed.

“Why, do you realize that to-day he is one of the most popular men in public life throughout the country; that ‘What does Langdon think?’ has become the watchword of the big body of independents who want honesty and decent government without graft?

“I tell you that’s a big thing, Miss Langdon.  That’s success—­real success in politics, especially in Washington politics.

“Now, if there’s anything else you want him to have, I’ll see that he gets it I’ll try to get it for him”—­he paused a minute, then added, with heartfelt meaning in his voice—­“and for you, Miss Langdon.”

Carolina played coquettishly with the secretary.

“For me, Mr. Haines?” she questioned, archly, with an effective glance into his eyes.

Bud’s pulses began to throb violently—­to leap.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, unsteadily, “for you, and you know it.  That’s the inspiration now, my inspiration—­the chance of winning your belief in me, of winning something more, the biggest thing I ever thought to win—­because, Miss Langdon—­Carolina—­I love you.”  He bent over and seized the girl’s hand.  “Ever since the day I first saw you I—­”

She shook her head indulgently and in a moment drew her hand from his.

“You mustn’t be so serious, Mr. Haines.  You don’t understand Southern girls at all.  We are not just like Northern girls.  We are used to being made love to from the time we are knee-high.  Sometimes, I fear, we flirt a little, but we don’t mean any harm.  All girls flirt—­a little.”

“But somebody wins even the Southern girls,” declared Haines, eagerly.

The girl’s face became serious, earnest, sincere.

“Yes, somebody does, always,” she said.  “And when a Southern girl is won she stays won, Mr. Haines.”