Mr. Britt, like a man who had received a dipperful of cold water in the face, backed away from anything like a proposal at that unpropitious moment.  But in all his arid nature he felt the need of some sort of consolation from a feminine source.  “Vona, I’ve just had a terrible setback,” he mourned.  “There’s only one other disappointment that could be any worse—­and I don’t dare to think of that right now.”

Miss Harnden apprehensively proceeded to keep him away from the prospective disappointment, dwelling on the present, asking him solicitously what had happened.

He told her of his ambition and of what Ossian Orne had reported.

“But why should that be so very important for a man like you—­to go to the legislature—­Mr. Britt?”

He opened his mouth, hankering to blurt out what he had been treasuring as dreams whose realization would serve as an inducement to her.  He had been picturing to himself their honeymoon at the state capital, away from the captious tongues of Egypt—­how he would stalk with his handsome bride into the dining room of the capital’s biggest hotel; how she would attract the eyes of jealous men, in her finery and with her jewels; how she would sit in the gallery at the State House and survey him making his bigness among the lawmakers; for some weeks he had been laboring on the composition of a speech that he intended to deliver.  But her second dash of cold water kept him from the disclosure of his feelings.  He went on so far as to ask her if she did not think a session at the state capital would be interesting.

“I have never thought anything about such a matter, of course, Mr. Britt, being only a girl and not a politician.”

“But women who are there get into high society and wear fine clothes and have a grand time, Vona.”

“It must be a tedious life,” she replied, indifferently.

“Wouldn’t you like to try it?” Now that he could not offer her the grand inducement he had planned as an essential part of his campaign of love he sought consolation in her assurance that the prospect did not tempt her.  His hopes revived.  He was reflecting that his money could buy railroad tickets, even if he had not the popularity with which to win votes.  She shook her head promptly when he asked the question, and he went on with his new idea.  “I suppose what a girl really enjoys is to see the world, after she has been penned up all her life in a town like this.”

“I don’t waste my time in foolish longings, Mr. Britt.  In fact, I have no time to waste on anything.”  She gave him a bit of a smile.  “In that connection I’ll confess that I must hurry home and help mother with some sewing.  Did you want anything especial of me?” Her smile had vanished, and in her tone there was a clink of the metallic that was as subtly suggestive of “On guard” as the click of a trigger.

Mr. Britt had planned upon a radiant disclosing of his projects—­expecting to be spurred in his advances by the assurance of what he could offer her as the consort of a legislator—­as high an honor as his narrow vision could compass.  She had found him cursing, had kept him at bay, and he had already had evidence of the danger of precipitateness in her case.  And his tears made him feel foolish.  His ardor had been wet down; it took a back seat.  His natural good judgment was again boss of the situation.