And at that moment the Governor growled softly to himself.  “I’ve overdone it,” he said.  “She’s sure to be offended.  No one likes to be taken in.  I ought not to have showed her Mrs. Rudd’s conservatory; that was a mistake.  She won’t let them ask me down; I shan’t see her.  Hanged if I won’t telephone Mrs. McNaughton to keep the secret till I’ve been down.”  And he did, before Lindsay could get there, amid much laughter at both ends of the wire, and no small embarrassment at his own.

And he was asked down, and having enjoyed himself, was asked again.  And again.  So that during the three weeks of Lindsay’s visit Bristol saw more of the Chief Executive officer of the State than Bristol had seen before, and everybody but Lindsay had an inkling of the reason.  But the time never came to tell her of the shadowy personality of Mrs. Rudd, and between the McNaughton girls and the Governor, whom they forced into unexpected statements, to their great though secret glee, Lindsay was informed of many details in regard to the missing first lady of the commonwealth.  Such a dialogue as the following would occur at the lunch table: 

Alice McNaughton (speaking with ceremonious politeness from one end of the table to the Governor at the other end).  “When is Mrs. Rudd coming, Governor?”

The Governor (with a certain restraint).  “Before very long, I hope, Miss Alice.  Mrs. McNaughton, may I have more lobster?  I’ve never in my life had as much lobster as I wanted.”

Alice (refusing to be side-tracked).  “And when did you last hear from her, Governor?”

Chuck McNaughton (ornament of the Sophomore class at Harvard.  In love with Lindsay, but more so with the joke.  Gifted with a sledgehammer style of wit).  “I’ve been hoping for a letter from her myself, Governor, but it doesn’t come.”

The Governor (with slight hauteur).  “Ah, indeed!”

Lindsay (at whose first small peep the Governor’s eyes turn to hers and rest there shamelessly).  “Why haven’t you any pictures of Mrs. Rudd in the house, Mrs. McNaughton?  The Governor’s is everywhere and you all tell me how fascinating she is, and yet don’t have her about.  It looks like you don’t love her as much as the Governor.” (At the mention of being loved, in that voice, cold shivers seize the Executive nerves.)

Mrs. McNaughton (entranced with the airy persiflage, but knowing her own to be no light hand at repartee).  “Ask the others, my dear.”

Alice (jumping at the chance).  “Oh, the reason of that is very interesting!  Mrs. Rudd has never given even the Governor her picture.  She—­she has principles against it.  She belongs, you see, to an ancient Hebrew family—­in fact, she is a Jewess” ("A wandering Jewess,” the Governor interjected, sotto voce, his glance veering again to Lindsay’s face), “and you know that Jewish families have religious scruples about portraits of any sort” (pauses, exhausted).