“What can he do if you break it?  He will not kill you.”

“He will not kill me, no; but he will despise me.”  Lyons reflected, as he spoke, that Elton would be unable to injure him financially.  He would, be able to pay his notes when they became due, thanks to the improvement in business affairs which had set in since the beginning of the year.

“And your party—­the American people will despise you if you sign the bill.  Whose contempt do you fear the most?”

“I see—­I see,” he murmured.  “I cannot deny there is much force in your argument, dear.  I fear there can be no doubt that if I let the bill become law, public clamor will oblige the party to throw me over and take up Stringer or some dark horse.  That means a serious setback to my political progress; means perhaps my political ruin.”

“Your political suicide, James.  And there is another side to it,” continued Selma, pathetically.  “My side.  I wish you to think of that.  I wish you to realize that, if you yield to this false notion of honor, you will interfere with the development of my life no less than your own.  As you know, I think, I became your wife because I felt that as a public woman working, at your side in behalf of the high purposes in which we had a common sympathy, I should be a greater power for good than if I pursued alone my career as a writer and on the lecture platform.  Until to-day I have felt sure that I had made no mistake—­that we had made no mistake.  Without disrespect to the dead, I may say that for the first time in my life marriage has meant to me what it should mean, and has tended to bring out the best which is in me.  I have grown; I have developed; I have been recognized.  We have both made progress.  Only a few days ago I was rejoicing to think that when you became a United States Senator, there would be a noble field for my abilities as well as yours.  We are called to high office, called to battle for great principles and to lead the nation to worthy things.  And now, in a moment of mental blindness, you are threatening to spoil all.  For my sake, if not for your own, James, be convinced that you do not see clearly.  Do not snatch the cup of happiness from my lips just as at last it is full.  Give me the chance to live my own life as I wish to live it.”

There was a brief silence.  Lyons rose and let fall his hand on the table with impressive emphasis.  His mobile face was working with emotion; his eyes were filled with tears.  “I will veto the bill,” he said, grandiloquently.  “The claims of private honor must give way to the general welfare, and the demands of civilization.  You have convinced me, Selma—­my wife.  My point of view was old-fashioned.  Superior ethics permit no other solution of the problem.  Superior ethics,” he repeated, as though the phrase gave him comfort, “would not justify a statesman in sacrificing his party and his own powers—­aye, and his political conscience—­in order to keep a private compact.  I shall veto the bill.”