At the moment Dudley had experienced a warm recognition of his generosity in refraining from the use of his own endurance of many Battles, as an illustration of the opposite and virtuous course; but upon later reflection he frankly admitted that the cases were by no means similar.  It had not occurred to him, he recalled, to deny that Mrs. Webb was singularly trying, though he wondered, half resentfully, why Eugenia could not be brought to regard that lady’s foibles from his own gently humorous point of view.  He was not in the least disconcerted by his mother’s solicitude as to the condition of his soul, or by the fact that she still felt constrained to allude to the governor of the State as “a person of low antecedents.”  Personally, he was inclined to admire—­and frankly to admit it—­the ability which had brought Burr into prominence from a position of evident obscurity, while he regarded Mrs. Webb’s eccentric attitude as a kind of antedated comedy.  What he objected to was his wife’s inability to grasp the keynote of the situation.

It was pleasant to reflect, however, as he leisurely descended the steps, that he had brought Eugenia round by less heroic measures than an assault upon her family altars.  He was glad to think that he had given her a cup of tea instead.

Crossing slowly to Franklin Street, he hesitated an instant on the corner, and turned finally in the direction of his office.  There was a nearer way down town, but he always chose this one because experience had taught him that if pretty women were abroad here they would be found.  With the same instinct of enjoyment he might have gone out of his way daily to pass the window of a florist.

As he walked on in the spring sunshine he held his handsome head erect, blowing the smoke of his cigar in the scented air.  He moved leisurely, finding life too good to be wasted in rushing.  The soft atmosphere; the fragrance of his fine cigar; the beauty of the women he passed—­these sufficed to bring the glow of animation to his smooth, full face.

Once he stopped to shake hands with pretty Emma Carr, detaining her by a jest and a laugh—­and again he paused to exchange a word with Juliet Galt, who was at her window.  It was only when he turned into the business street again that he brought his mind to bear upon less engaging subjects.

Then it was that he remembered he had delivered the evening before his most successful oration.  He had spoken to a large audience upon “Personal Morality in Politics,” and he had received an appreciation that was prolonged and thundering.  When it was over some one had called him a “greater orator than Withers,” to add quickly, “and a better Democrat than Burr.”  He could still see the whimsical smile Burr had turned upon the speaker, and he could still feel his own sense of elation.