Trent was standing before a bust of Daniel Webster, speculating upon how his own profile would look in bronze.

“You would have to shave off your side-whiskers,” murmured a soft voice behind him.

He turned with a nervous start, and a suspicion of colour appeared under his grey skin. Mrs. Pendleton was standing with her hands resting lightly on the table. She smiled with saucy dignity—an art she had brought to perfection.

“I give you five years,” she said.

“With you to help me,” he cried enthusiastically. “Ah! I see you now, leaning on the arm of a foreign ambassador, going in to some great diplomatic dinner!”

“It is too bad, I shall have to take the arm of a small one; you will be but the American minister, you know. (Great Heaven! how determined he looks! I know he means to kiss me. If I can only keep his ambition going.)”

“I will be senator first, and pass a bill placing this country on an equal diplomatic footing with the proudest in Europe. You will then go to your embassy as the wife of an ambassador.”

“I know you will accomplish it; and let it be Paris. I cannot endure to shop anywhere else.”

“It shall be Paris.”

“Are you not tired?” she asked hurriedly.

“Tired? I have not thought of fatigue.”

“The day is so warm.”

“I have not felt it. Jessica!”

“O—h—h—h!” and catching her face convulsively in her hand, she sank into a chair.

“What is it? What is it?” he cried, hopping about her like an agitated spider, the tip of his nose punctuating his excitement. “What can I do? Are you ill?”

Faintly: “Neuralgia.”

“What shall I ring for? Antipyrine? Horse-radish for your wrists? Belladonna? What?”

“Nothing. Sit down and talk to me, and perhaps it will go away. Tell me something about yourself, and I’ll forget it. Sit down.”

“There is but little to tell. I have been busy making friends against the next election. I have addressed several meetings with great success. I have every chance for the House this time—for the Senate next term. How’s your face?”

“Misery! You said that several of my old friends came down with you. How odd!”

“Was it not?”

“I suppose they will all come to see me.”

“H’m. I don’t know. Doubt if they know you are here. I shall not tell them. They would only be coming to see you and getting in my way. I’ll wait until our wedding-day approaches and ask them to be ushers. But now, Jessica, that you do not seem to suffer so acutely—”

“Oh! Oh! (Thank Heaven, I hear Edith.)”

Trent sprang to his feet in genuine alarm. “Dearest! Let me go for the doctor. I cannot stand this—”

Miss Decker entered with apparent haste, spoke to Trent, then stopped abruptly.

“Jessica!” she cried. “What is the matter?”

“My face! You know how I have suffered—worse than ever.”

“Oh, you poor dear! She is such a martyr, Mr. Trent, with that tooth—”

“Neuralgia!”

“I mean neuralgia! She was up all night. But, my dear, don’t think me a heartless fiend, but you must see your lawyer. He is here with those deeds for you to sign, and he says that he must catch the train.”

“That estate has given me so much trouble,” murmured Mrs. Pendleton, wretchedly; “and how can I talk business when my head is on the rack? I do not wish to leave Mr. Trent so soon, either.”

“Leave Mr. Trent to me. I will entertain him. I will talk to him about you.”

“May I speak to you one moment before you go?” asked Trent.

“Yes,” pinching her lips with extremest pain, “you need not mind Edith.”

“Not in the least.” He took a box from his pocket with an air of resignation which boded well for the trials of a diplomatic career. “I cannot wait longer to fetter you. You told me once that the emerald was your favourite stone.”

She relaxed her lips and swept her lashes down and up rapturously. “So good of you to remember,” she murmured; “it reminds me of mermaids and things, and I love it.”

“You were always so poetical! But where did you get that ring? I thought you never wore rings. On your engagement finger, too!”

“It was a present from grandma, and I wear it to please her. I’ll slip it in my pocket now—it is too large for any other finger—and you can put yours where it belongs.”

“You will never take it off until you need its place for your wedding-ring?”

“Never!”

“Angel! And your face is better?”

“Yes; but Edith is looking directly this way.”