All other men bored her, and she could not conceal the fact.

To promenade with Harpwood and notice that Lockwin was interested—­this was indeed a tonic.  The world of tuberoses and portes cocheres—­the world of soft carpets and waltzes heard in the distance—­this aromatic, conventional and dreary world became a paradise.

When David Lockwin declared his love, life became dramatic.

When David Lockwin won the primaries and carried the election, life became useful.

When David Lockwin held the little feet of the dead foundling life became noble.  She, too, would bring from out the recesses of that man’s better nature the treasures of love which lay there.  She had not before known that she hungered and thirsted for love.

It might be the affection of a lioness.  She might lick her cubs with the tongue of a tiger, but her temperament, stirring beneath her, was pleased.

She has a husband worthy of her worship.  She who had not known that she wanted lover’s verses, wants them from David Lockwin.

She who had never been jealous of Davy, grows jealous of politics.  Yet, fearing her husband may guess her secret and despise her, she appears more Spartan.

She nursed the man sick of brain fever and buried little Davy.  She brought her patient to his senses after nearly a month of alienation.

“Is Davy dead, Esther?” he had asked.

This was his first rational utterance.

“You are elected to Congress, David,” she said.  “Are you not glad?”

“Yes,” he answered, and looked like death itself.

She dared not to throw herself upon his pillow and tell him how happy she was that he was restored.  Her heart beat rebelliously that she did not declare to him the consuming passion of love which she felt.

Oh, let him resign his honors!  Let him travel with her alone!  Let her love him—­love him as he loved Davy—­as he must love her!

But the caution of love and experience had warned her to be still.  Had not David waited until the child was dead before she saw the man as he really loved that child?

“I think I can do my duty,” he said, wearily.

“I am so glad you were elected!” she said.

“Yes,” he answered, and became whiter.

She had sat by the bed, growing uneasy.  Ought she to have told him all?  Ought she to have acknowledged her deep devotion?  Why was he so sad?  Surely they could mourn for Davy together!  Tears had come in her eyes as she gazed on the couch where Davy’s soul went away.

The man had been comforted.  “Were you remembering Davy?” he asked.

“Yes, dear,” she said.

He had put his weak hand in hers.  She was the happiest she had ever been.

She had debated if she might deplore politics.  She hated politics now.  But she had not dared to be frank.  In five minutes more the bridges were burned.  The man and the woman were apart again, each in anguish, and neither able to aid the other.