I looked up, and saw her face full of mischief.

“What about the rose, Jack?” she asked.

I remembered.  Bewildered with delight, and believing I had won her, I said: 

“Your soldier till death, signorina.”

“Bother death!” said she saucily.  “Nobody’s going to die.  We shall win, and then—­”

“And then,” said I eagerly, “you’ll marry me, sweet?”

She quietly stooped down and kissed my lips.  Then, stroking my hair, she said: 

“You’re a nice boy, but you’re not a good boy, Jack.”

“Christina, you won’t marry him?”

“Him?”

“McGregor,” said I.

“Jack,” said she, whispering now, “I hate him!”

“So do I,” I answered promptly.  “And if it’s to win you, I’ll upset a dozen Presidents.”

“Then you’ll do it for me?  I like to think you’ll do it for me, and not for the money.”

As the signorina was undoubtedly “doing it” for her money, this was a shade unreasonable.

“I don’t mind the money coming in—­” I began.

“Mercenary wretch!” she cried.  “I didn’t kiss you, did I?”

“No,” I replied.  “You said you would in a minute, when I consented.”

“Very neat, Jack,” she said.  But she went and opened the door and called to McGregor, “Mr. Martin sees no objection to the arrangement, and he will come to dinner to-night, as you suggest, and talk over the details.  We’re all going to make our fortunes, Mr. Jones,” she went on, without waiting for any acceptance of her implied invitation, “and when we’ve made ours, we’ll think about you and Mrs. Jones.”

I heard Jones making some noise, incoherently suggestive of gratification, for he was as bad as any of us about the signorina, and then I was left to my reflections.  These were less somber than the reader would, perhaps, anticipate.  True, I was putting my head into a noose; and if the President’s hands ever found their way to the end of the rope, I fancied he would pull it pretty tight.  But, again, I was immensely in love, and equally in debt; and the scheme seemed to open the best chance of satisfying my love, and the only chance of filling my pocket.  To a young man life without love isn’t worth much; to a man of any age, in my opinion, life without money isn’t worth much; it becomes worth still less when he is held to account for money he ought to have.  So I cheerfully entered upon my biggest gamble, holding the stake of life well risked.  My pleasure in the affair was only marred by the enforced partnership of McGregor.  There was no help for this, but I knew he wasn’t much fonder of me than I of him, and I found myself gently meditating on the friction likely to arise between the new President and his minister of finance, in case our plans succeeded.  Still the signorina hated him, and by all signs she loved me.  So I lay back in my chair, and recalled my charmer’s presence by whistling the hymn of liberty until it was time to go to lunch, an observance not to be omitted even by conspirators.