“Do you think you would be contented to live in Fallkill, and attend the county Court?” asked Alice, when Philip had opened the budget of his new programme.

“Perhaps not always,” said Philip, “I might go and practice in Boston maybe, or go to Chicago.”

“Or you might get elected to Congress.”

Philip looked at Alice to see if she was in earnest and not chaffing him.  Her face was quite sober.  Alice was one of those patriotic women in the rural districts, who think men are still selected for Congress on account of qualifications for the office.

“No,” said Philip, “the chances are that a man cannot get into congress now without resorting to arts and means that should render hint unfit to go there; of course there are exceptions; but do you know that I could not go into politics if I were a lawyer, without losing standing somewhat in my profession, and without raising at least a suspicion of my intentions and unselfishness?  Why, it is telegraphed all over the country and commented on as something wonderful if a congressman votes honestly and unselfishly and refuses to take advantage of his position to steal from the government.”

“But,” insisted Alice, “I should think it a noble ambition to go to congress, if it is so bad, and help reform it.  I don’t believe it is as corrupt as the English parliament used to be, if there is any truth in the novels, and I suppose that is reformed.”

“I’m sure I don’t know where the reform is to begin.  I’ve seen a perfectly capable, honest man, time and again, run against an illiterate trickster, and get beaten.  I suppose if the people wanted decent members of congress they would elect them.  Perhaps,” continued Philip with a smile, “the women will have to vote.”

“Well, I should be willing to, if it were a necessity, just as I would go to war and do what I could, if the country couldn’t be saved otherwise,” said Alice, with a spirit that surprised Philip, well as he thought he knew her.  “If I were a young gentleman in these times—­”

Philip laughed outright.  “It’s just what Ruth used to say, ’if she were a man.’  I wonder if all the young ladies are contemplating a change of sex.”

“No, only a changed sex,” retorted Alice; “we contemplate for the most part young men who don’t care for anything they ought to care for.”

“Well,” said Philip, looking humble, “I care for some things, you and Ruth for instance; perhaps I ought not to.  Perhaps I ought to care for Congress and that sort of thing.”

“Don’t be a goose, Philip.  I heard from Ruth yesterday.”

“Can I see her letter?”

“No, indeed.  But I am afraid her hard work is telling on her, together with her anxiety about her father.”

“Do you think, Alice,” asked Philip with one of those selfish thoughts that are not seldom mixed with real love, “that Ruth prefers her profession to—­to marriage?”