“Charley Abbott is a dear, and he’s a devoted admirer of yours,” Diana exclaimed.

“And of yours,” rejoined Enoch.

“He’s very discerning,” said Diana, her eyes twinkling and the corners of her mouth deepening.  “But you shall not evade me this way, Mr. Huntingdon.  Why didn’t you want to see my pictures?”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t want to see them.  Women are always inaccurate, or at least, so I have heard.”

“I would say that Mr. Abbott had a great deal more data on the general subject of women than you, Mr. Secretary.  You really ought to get him to check you up!  Please, why didn’t you intend to come to my exhibition?”

“I have been swamped with extra work of late,” answered Enoch.

“Yes?” Diana’s eyebrows rose and her intelligent great eyes were fastened on Enoch’s with an expression so discerning and so sympathetic, that he bit his lip and turned from her to the Navaho, who prayed in the burning desert before him.  The reporters, who had been hovering in the offing, closed in on Diana immediately.  When she was free once more, Enoch turned back and held out his hand.

“Good night, Miss Allen.  If you don’t mind coming over to my office at twelve to-morrow, I can take you to the White House then.”

“I shall not mind!—­too much!  Good night, Mr. Secretary,” replied Diana, with the deepening of the corners of her mouth that Enoch now recalled had belonged to the little girl Diana.

Enoch made an entry in the black book that night.

“I wonder, Diana, how much Frank has told you of me and my unhappy history.  I wonder how you would feel if a man whose mother was a harlot who died of an unspeakable disease were to ask you to marry him.  Oh, my dear, don’t be troubled!  I shall never, never, ask you.  Your pictures moved me more than I dared try to express to you.  It was as if you had carried me in a breath to the Canyon and once more I beheld the wonder, the kindliness, the calm, the inevitableness of God’s ways.  I’m going to try, Diana, to make a friend of you.  I believe that I have the strength.  What I am very sure of is that I have not the strength to know that you are in Washington and never see you.”

The clock struck twelve the next day, when Abbott came to the Secretary’s desk.  Enoch was deep in a conference with the Attorney General.

“Miss Allen is here,” he said softly.

“Give me five minutes!” exclaimed the Attorney General.

“I’m sorry.”  Enoch rose from his desk.  “I’m very sorry, old fellow, but this is an appointment with the President.  Can you come about three, if that suits Abbott’s schedule?”

“Not till to-morrow, I’m afraid,” said the Attorney General.

Enoch nodded.  “It’s just as well.  I think I’ll have some private advices from Mexico by then that may somewhat change our angle of attack.  All right, Jonas!  I’m coming.  Ask Miss Allen to meet me at the carriage.”