Hadn’t Phoebe stirred the sugar into his cup of coffee and then in an absolutely absent-minded manner tasted it before she had come around the fire to hand it to him?  It had been a standing argument between them for years as to a man’s right to this small attention, which they both teased Mrs. Matilda for bestowing upon the major.  It was an insignificant, inconsequent little ceremony in itself but it fired a train in David’s mind, made for healing the wound in his heart and brought its consequences.  Another reconstruction campaign began to shape its policy in the mind of David Kildare which had to do with the molding of the destiny of the high-headed young woman of his affections, rather than with the amelioration of conditions in his native city.  So, high and clear he sang the call of the mocking-bird with its ecstasies and its minors.

But late as it was, after he had landed his guests at their doors, he had a long talk over the phone with the clerk of his headquarters and sent a half-dozen telegrams before he turned into his room.  When he switched on his lights he saw that Andrew stood by the window looking out into the night.  His face was so drawn and white as he turned that David started and reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Dave,” he said, “I’m a blackguard and a coward—­don’t touch me!”

“What is it, Andrew?” asked David as he laid his arm across the tense shoulders.

“I thought I was strong and dared to stay—­now I know I’m a coward and couldn’t go.  I’ll have to sneak away and leave her—­hurt!” His voice was low and toned with an unspeakable scorn of himself.

“Andy,” asked David, as he swung him around to face him, “was Caroline Darrah too much for you—­and the moon?”

“There’s nothing to say about it, David, nothing!  I have only made it hard for her:  and killed myself for myself forever.  She’s a child and she’ll forget.  You’ll see to her, won’t you?”

“What are you going to do now?” asked David sternly.

“Cut and run—­cowards always do,” answered Andrew bitterly.  “I am going to stay and see you through this election, for it’s too late to turn the press matters over to any one else—­and I’m going to pray to find some way to make it easier for her before I leave her.  I’m afraid some day she’ll find out—­and not understand why I went.”

“Why do you go, Andrew?” asked David as he faced this friend with compelling eyes.  “If it’s pride that takes you, better give it up!  It’s deadly for you both, for she’s more of a woman than you think—­she’ll suffer.”

“David, do you think she would have me if she knew what I put aside to take her—­and his millions?  Could Peters Brown’s heiress ever have anything but contempt for me?  When it comes to her she must understand—­and not think I held it against her!”

“Tell her, Andrew; let her decide!  It’s her right now!”