It had already occurred to Lyons that his nomination as Governor was a possibility, for the leaders of the party were ostensibly looking about for a desirable Democrat with whom to confront Patterson, and had shown an intention to turn a cold shoulder on the ambition of several aspirants for this honor who might have been encouraged in an ordinary year as probable victors.  He knew that his name was under consideration, and he had made up his mind that he would accept the nomination if it were offered to him.  He would regret the interruption of his Congressional career, but he felt that his election as Governor in a presidential year after a close contest would make him the leader of the party in the State, and, in case the candidate of his party were chosen President, would entitle him to important recognition from the new administration.  Moreover, if he became Governor, his financial status would be strengthened.  The banks would be more likely to accommodate one in such a powerful position, and he might be able to keep his head above water until better times brought about a return of public confidence and a recovery in prices.  Yet he felt by no means sure that even as Governor he could escape betraying his financial embarrassment, and his mind was so oppressed by the predicament in which he found himself that he made no effort on his own part to cause the party leaders to fix their choice on him.  Nor did he mention the possibility of his selection to Selma.  Mortification and self-reproach had made him for the moment inert as to his political future, and reluctant to confide his troubles to her.

The clarion declaration of the Benham Sentinel in favor of Lyons evoked sympathetic echoes over the State, which promptly convinced the political chieftains that he was the strongest candidate to pit against Patterson.  The enthusiasm caused by the suggestion of his name spread rapidly, and at the end of a week his nomination at the convention was regarded as certain.

The championship of the Sentinel was a complete surprise to Selma.  She had assumed that her husband would return to Washington, and that political promotion for the present was out of the question.  When she saw her husband’s features looking out at her from a large cut on the front page of the morning newspaper, and read the conspicuous heading which accompanied it—­“The Sentinel nominates as Governor the Hon. James O. Lyons of Benham, the most eloquent orator and most public-spirited citizen of the State”—­her heart gave a bound, and she eagerly asked herself, “Why not?” That was just what they needed, what she needed to secure her hold on the social evolution of Benham.  As the wife of the Governor of the State she would be able to ignore the people who held aloof from her, and introduce the reforms in social behavior on which her heart was set.

“James, have you seen this?” she asked, eagerly.

Lyons was watching her from across the breakfast table.  He had seen it, and had laid the newspaper within her reach.