"I suppose I'm tired. I don't know what else can be the matter with me."

She laughed again.

"What is it that amuses you?"

"Can't I laugh when I'm happy?"

"Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I just found out something."

"What?"

"Secret."

"Tell me?"

"Maybe--some day."

He stared at her again.

"I know," she nodded, "I am a different girl from the one you married.

I'm sorry, but it can't be helped."

"If you're happy, you aren't thinking of--you're not wanting to die?"

"Not until you're governor, anyway."

"You always say that, Barbara. It terrifies me. You mean that if I win, you still may----"

She rose and faced him.

"Not to-night. I'll tell you my plans the night you are elected. Come along now, and eat of the sacred codfish."

"You are a little glad to see me?" he asked her.

"Oh, yes. Boston is boring me to death," she evaded him.

"d.a.m.n Boston!" was his succinct reply.

III

As Trent's campaign neared its close, Barbara could tell by the weariness in his voice, over the 'phone, just how near he was to the end of his endurance. It fretted her constantly that she had to stay on in Boston, when she might look after him, make it easier for him if only she could be with him. Twice he came to Boston on flying visits, and the last time she almost decided to throw up her engagement and go back with him.

He a.s.sured her that her absence was providential, that he could never see her, even if she were in the same hotel, that it was less tantalizing to have her away, than near and far. He never failed to say good-night by long distance. Sometimes the tired little boy note crept into it to disturb her slumbers.

The week of the election arrived with excitement high. No gubernatorial campaign in years had been fought with such tenacity and fierceness. The entire state was lined up in rabid factions. Trent occasionally sent Barbara a package of newspapers from the smaller towns in the state and she read in one of Paul as "the embodiment of youth and courage, the two qualities most needed in the new governor. Full of enthusiasm for reforms that mean greater efficiency in our state government, yet tempered by a calm judgment and the experience which came to him in his brilliant career in the law." Next she read: "Paul Trent is the tool and mouthpiece of rampant reform. Once in the governor's chair, he will prove a dangerous factor to be dealt with by the people when it is too late."

They accused him of every crime in the decalogue, this side of murder--and every virtue. They mentioned his mysterious marriage with a well-known actress as proof of his loose moral standards--as proof of his fine democratic ideas! The whole thing, viewed as a spectacle, made one of the absurd exhibits of our political system.

When Barbara was not raging, perforce, she laughed.

For the first three days of the week before election the New York call came once at one, twice later than that. Three or four meetings a night listened to Trent, and during the day he addressed crowds in the nearby towns. The day before election, at noon, Barbara entered her manager's office with an air of bravado.

"Oh, good-morning. This is an honour," he smiled.

"Wait a minute before you waste that smile! An understudy has got to go on for me to-night and to-morrow night."

"What? Are you sick?"

"No. I'm going to New York on an afternoon train. I'll come back on the midnight train to-morrow."

"You will and you won't. That's a pretty high tone for you to take with me. What about the receipts--what about me--what am I to tell the public? That you don't like Boston, and you went to New York to buy a hat? Nice position you put me in, with the S. R. O. sign out every night. You think all you've got to do is to come in here, smiling sweetly, and say: 'I'm going to New York this afternoon.'"

"I told you you'd regret that smile! Look here, Wolfson, you can like it or not, just as you please. I'm going to New York to help get my husband elected governor. If you've got the sense G.o.d is supposed to have given your race, you'll play it up big in the papers and make capital out of it. There aren't so many actresses married to governors, you know.

You've got something exclusive!"

"But he ain't governor!"

"No, but he will be by to-morrow night. By the time you get it into the dear public's head, he will be, and I'll be back here. Get my point?"

"Yes, but you're crazy!"

"Granted--it's grand to be crazy! Give little Marcy a chance at my part; she deserves it. I'm off now. By-by."

"I could break my contract with you for this!"

She turned and came back.

"Suits me perfectly. Let's settle it now. I don't want to come back to-morrow night, just for the trip," she said coolly.

The poor little man was on the p.r.o.ngs of a toasting fork, and he knew it. He paced the floor and sputtered and raged. Bob looked at her watch.

"I don't intend to miss my train. Do I come back or not?"

"Oh, d.a.m.n it, yes. Now get out."

"You're a most obliging little man, Wolfson, but your temper is unspeakably bad."

She smiled sweetly at him, and tripped out.

All the way on the train she devised new ways of appearing to Trent. He had no least suspicion of her plans, and she intended to make the most of the dramatic possibilities of the situation. Her train did not get her into New York until after six. She knew Paul was to address half a dozen meetings, ending with the biggest of all at Cooper Union. She was not sure that she could find him even if she tried, but she intended to be at Cooper Union to lose herself in the crowd, and listen to him, watch him fire the last gun of his fight--their fight. Then--well, that would have to take care of itself.

She drove to the hotel and met the cordial, unsurprised greeting of the clerk. Nothing "in heaven or earth beneath" can surprise a New York hotel clerk. She asked about Paul, when he came in, when he dined.