Mrs. Presson and her ladies were cordial.  They did not seem to remark that the State chairman kept his seat and was brusque in his greeting.  Political abstraction excused general disregard to conventions among the men-folks that morning.  The Duke was there.  He patronized them with a particularly amiable smile.

“May I?” asked Linton, touching the chair next Madeleine.

“Yes,” said the girl.  “You know, Herbert and I are very old friends, Mr. Thornton.”  There was a hint of apology to Harlan behind the brilliant smile she gave him.  He had moved toward the chair.  He flushed when he realized that he felt a queer sense of hurt at her choice.  It was another new experience for him who had made the woods his mistress—­a woman had chosen another, slighting him.  As he took his seat beside his grandfather he was angry at himself—­at the sudden boyish pique he felt.  He had not been conscious till then that he had been interested especially in Madeleine Presson.  It needed the presence of this other young man, selected over his head, to make him understand that one may not draw near beauty with impunity, even though one may be very certain—­telling his own heart—­that love is undreamed of.  He wondered whether he might not be afflicted with asinine pride.

He did not relish the glance that Linton bestowed on him; it seemed there was just a flash of triumph in it—­that bit of a boast one sees in the eyes of a man who becomes, even briefly, the proprietor of a pretty woman.

“We were just talking over the latest news—­or, rather, it’s a rumor,” said Miss Presson.  With quick intuition she felt that something, somehow, was not just right.  She hastened to break the silence.  “They are saying that Mr. Spinney has withdrawn, and that his name will not go before the convention.  Of course, you’ve heard about it, Herbert—­and Mr. Thornton!”

They had not heard it.  They looked guilty.  They had been all the morning with Colonel Wadsworth, locked away from the throng, finishing matters of the night before.  The expression on their faces was confession of their ignorance.

“If you’re going to be early political fishermen you’ll have to look for your worms sharp in the morning or you’ll fetch up short of bait,” suggested the Duke, maliciously.

“Three cheers and a snatch of band-music take on a hopeful color when they’re lit up by red fire overnight,” remarked the State chairman.  “So do some other things.  But a fellow with good eyesight usually comes to himself in the daylight.”

“Is that true about Spinney?” asked Harlan, scenting mischief and treachery, and not yet enough of a politician to understand instantly just what effect this would have on the situation.

“I don’t know anything about it,” snapped Presson.  “I don’t care anything about it.  It isn’t important enough.  The man’s strength was overrated.  It was mostly mouth.  Just as soon as the delegates got together last night and shook themselves down it was plain enough where Spinney stood.”