“Heavens, I’m your reconcentrado!  Major, I feel as if I’d been shut up down cellar in the cold without the breath of life for a year.  It’s only three days and thirteen hours and a half; but I’m all in.  I go dead without her—­believe I’ll telephone her now!” And David reached for the receiver that stood on the major’s table.

“Now, David,” said the major, restraining his eager hand and smiling through his sadness, “don’t try to gather your grapes over the phone!  I judge they are ripe, but they still hang high—­they always will!  Look at the clock!”

David took one look at the staid old mahogany timepiece, which the major had had brought in from Seven Oaks and placed in the corner opposite his table, and took his departure.

And after he had gone the major retired to his room to lie down for as much of his allotted rest as he could obtain.  Seeing him safely settled, Mrs. Buchanan went over for a short visit with Mrs. Shelby next door.  Mrs. Matilda stuck to the irate grandmother through thick and thin and in her affectionate heart she had hopes of bringing about the much to be desired reconciliation.  She was the only person in the city who dared mention Milly or the babies to the old lady and even in her unsophistication she suspected that the details she supplied with determined intrepidity fed a hunger in the lonely old heart.  Her pilgrimage next door was a daily one and never neglected.

Thus left alone Caroline Darrah was partaking of a solitary cup of tea, which was being served her by Tempie in all the gorgeousness of a new white lace-trimmed and beruffled apron which Caroline had made for her as near as possible like the dainty garments affected by the French shop-clad Annette, who was Temple’s special ally and admirer, when Mrs. Cherry Lawrence, in full regalia, descended upon her.  Tempie walled her black eyes and departed with dignity for an extra cup.

The major was fast asleep, David Kildare in the processes of bath and toilet, Phoebe at her desk down-town and Mrs. Matilda away on her mission, and thus it happened that nobody was near to fend the blight from the flower of their anxious cherishing.

“Yes, indeed, it is a time of anxiety,” Mrs. Cherry agreed with Caroline as she crushed the lemon in her tea.  “I shall be glad when it is over.  I feel that we all are making the utmost sacrifices for this election of David Kildare’s, and he’s such a boy that he probably will make a perfectly impossible judge.  He never takes anything seriously enough to accomplish much.  It’s well for him that no one expects anything from him.”

“Oh, but I’m sure he’s taking this seriously,” exclaimed Caroline Darrah with a little gleam of dismay in her eyes.  “His race has been an exceptional one whether he wins or not.  The major says so and the other day Mr. Sevier told me—­” At the mention of Andrew Sevier’s name Mrs. Cherry glanced around and an ugly little gleam came into her eyes.