'Do you think so?' said Theo politely. She had only one interest in the land beyond the Alleghenies, and that was not political.

'I think so,' said Aaron thoughtfully.

With his daughter he shared the feminine trait of boredom with impersonal concepts. His own idle prophecy had swung ajar a window which opened on an attractive new vista. He instinctively considered it in relation to himself. The disaffection of the West, the resentment of the Spaniards—could they not be used to advantage by an ambitious and farsighted leader? But how? To this there was for the moment no answer. The idea had after all been only a foolish fantasy. And he had no patience with impracticality.

His course for the immediate future lay clear ahead. He would continue to be an excellent Vice-President, and he would run for the governorship of New York State. In the event of his winning—and he felt confident of doing so—he would find this key position a far better political springboard than any he had as yet tried.

He now dusted a few flecks of tobacco from his black silk breeches, and rose with quick litheness. 'I'm going to bed, my dear; the highway from Philadelphia is enough to weary Apollo himself. Do you go and retire, too. I wish you fresh and shining for the President's dinner tomorrow'. He saluted her gallantly, but turned back as a thought struck him. 'By the by, do you remember the overgrown captain with whom you coquetted at Vauxhall Gardens?'

She drew a sharp breath, looked up at him, and then down at her lap.

Aaron regarded her confusion with amusement. 'I know it is cruel to taunt the sedate Mrs. Alston with the indiscretions of her salad days. But you will meet him again tomorrow. He is secretary to the President.'

She moistened her lips, managing a brittle little laugh. 'Oh, is he indeed? I—I will try to behave myself with perfect decorum this time.'

Aaron chuckled. 'I should hope so'. A yawn caught him. 'Pleasant dreams, my dear'. He went to his room and thought no more about it.

If he had ever permitted himself retrospection, he would have been mildly ashamed of the anger and violence into which he had been betrayed on that September night in New York. The incident had been too trivial to warrant them. But he never looked back, or carried around with him the trailing ends of spent emotion. It was perhaps the secret of his youthfulness.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

IT WAS raining when Theo awoke the next morning. She stared out the window at the drenching summer rain and thought with bitterness that it solved one problem anyway. Merne would not expect to meet her beside the river in this downpour. Yet, even had the morning been as brightly beautiful as the others, how could she have slipped away?