to the print shop Corinna had felt a genuine liking for her.  The girl had something deeper than charm, reflected the older woman; she had determination and endurance, the essentials of character.  Of course she was crude, she was ignorant; but these are never insurmountable obstacles except to the dull.  With intelligence and resourcefulness all things are possible—­even the metamorphosis of a circus rider’s daughter into a woman of the world.

Becoming suddenly aware that Vetch was silent, and that Mrs. Berkeley had turned to Judge Page on her left, Corinna looked for the first time into the frank blue eyes of the Governor.  Strange eyes they were, she thought, the one striking feature in a face that was ordinary.  It was like looking down into the very fountain of life—­no, of humanity.

“I have been watching your daughter,” she began casually.  “She is very pretty.”

“Yes, she is pretty enough”—­his tone was playful—­“but I don’t like this craze for short hair.”

She looked him over calmly.  Indirect methods would be wasted on such an opponent.  “You must admire Mrs. Stribling’s.”

“I do.  Don’t you?” His glance roved to the ample beauty beside John Benham.  “It looks exactly like a rope of flax.”

“A rope suggests a hanging to me,” she rejoined grimly.

He laughed, and she noticed that his eyes were brimming over with humour.  Yes, they were extraordinary eyes, and they made one feel sympathetic and friendly.  The man had a quality, she couldn’t deny it.

“We don’t hang any longer,” he replied.

“Oh, yes, we do sometimes—­without the law.”

The blue sparkles in his eyes contracted to points of light.  She had at last, by arresting his wandering attention, succeeded in making him look at her.

“I wonder what you mean,” he mused aloud, and added frankly, “I’ve never seen you before, have I?”

“Have I?” she mimicked gaily.  “Wouldn’t you remember me?  Or are all gray-haired women alike to you?”

His gaze travelled to her hair.  “I didn’t mean it that way.  Of course I should have remembered.”  He spoiled this by adding:  “I never forget a face,” and continued before she could answer, “I don’t know whether your hair is gray or only powdered a little; but you are as young as—­as summer.”

“Or as your political party.”

“That’s good.  I like a nimble wit.”  He was plainly amused.  “But my party isn’t young, you know.  It is as old as Esau and Jacob.  Oh, yes, I’ve read my Bible.  I was brought up on it.”

“That is why your speech is so direct,” she said when he paused, concluding slowly after a minute, “and so sincere.”

“You feel that I am sincere?”

She met his eyes gravely.  “Doesn’t every one?”

He laughed shortly.  “Ah, you know better than that!”

“Well, my father does.  He says that it is your sincerity that makes you resemble me.”