“Don’t you?”

“Naturally.  Of course the Governor loses by that.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

Her face flushed at the thought, and as Stephen watched her, he asked in a gentler voice, “Are you really to be married in June?”

She smiled an assent, with her dreaming gaze on the young leaves and the blue sky.

“Are you happy?” he persisted.

Her smile answered him again.  “One dreads the lonely fireside as one grows older.”  Then suddenly, as if the shadow of a cloud had drifted over the bright sky, he saw the smile fade from her lips and the glow from her upraised eyes.  Somewhere within her brain a voice as hollow as an echo was repeating, “Isn’t that life—­sparrows for larks always?”

“Well, you know what I feel about you, and what I think about Benham,” replied Stephen.  “You two together stand for all that I admire.”  As if ashamed of the tone of sentiment, he continued carelessly after a moment:  “Vetch is very far from being a Benham, and yet there is something about the man that holds one’s attention.  People are for ever discussing him.  A little while ago we were talking about his personal peculiarities and his political offences.  Now we are wondering how he will handle this strike if it comes off; and what effect it will have on his career?  Benham, of course, thinks that he is an instrument in the hands of a political group; that his office was the price they paid him not to interfere in the strike.  As for me I have no opinion.  I am waiting to see what will happen.”

They had reached the old print shop; and, as they paused beneath the cedars in the front yard, Stephen glanced up at the window under the quaint shingled roof.  The upper storey, he knew, was rented to a couple of tenants, and he was not surprised when he saw the curtains of dotted swiss pushed aside and a woman’s face look down on him over the red geranium on the window-sill.  The face was familiar; but, while he stared back at it, searching his memory for a resemblance, the white curtains dropped together again, veiling the features.  Where had he seen that woman before?  What association of ideas did the sight of her recall?  In a flash, while he still groped through mental obscurity, light broke on him.

“Who is that woman, Corinna?” he asked.  “What do you know of her?”

“That woman?” Corinna repeated; then, as he lifted his eyes to the window, she added, “Oh, that’s Mrs. Green.  A pathetic face, isn’t it?  I know nothing about her except that she came in a few weeks ago, and the caretaker tells me that she is leaving to-morrow.”

“Do you know where she came from?”

“My dear Stephen!  Why, what in the world?” A laugh broke from Corinna’s lips.  “Did you ever see her before?”

“Twice, and both times in the Capitol Square.  I thought her dreadful to look at.”

“I’ve only glanced at her, but she appeared to me more pathetic than dreadful.  She has been ill, I imagine, and she looks terribly poor.  I’m afraid the rent is too high, but I can’t do anything, for she rented her room from the tenants.  I suppose, poor thing, that she is merely a sad adventuress, and it is not the sad adventuresses, but the glad ones, who usually enlist a young man’s sympathy.  By the way, I am lunching with the Governor to-morrow.”