amuck. What should she do? What COULD she do? WHAT had she got
herself into by marrying?

But he was speaking. "My dear," he was saying in his sharp,
insistent voice, that at once aroused and enfeebled the nerves, "I
must talk fast, as the train comes in fifteen or twenty minutes--
the train for Chicago--for Minneapolis--for Wayne--for home--OUR
home."

She started up from the seat, pale, quivering, her hands clinched
against her bosom.

"For home," he repeated, fixing her with his resolute, green-blue
eyes. "Please, sit down."

She sank to the seat. "Do you mean--" she began, but her faltering
voice could not go on.

"I've resigned from office," said he, swift and calm. "I've told
the President I'll not take the Attorney-Generalship. I've
telegraphed your people at Lenox that we're not coming. And I'm
going home to run for Governor. My telegrams assure me the
nomination, and, with the hold I've got on the people, that means
election, sure pop. I make my first speech day after to-morrow
afternoon--with you on the platform beside me."

"You are mistaken," she said in a cold, hard voice. "You--"

"Now don't speak till you've thought, and don't think till I
finish. As you yourself said, Washington's no place for us--at