“I can’t do the honours of hospitality as I’d wish to,” he went on; “I can’t give you anything like the pies you used to give me.”

“You stole most of ’em,” said Euphrasia.

“I guess that’s so,” said young Tom, laughing, “but I’ll never taste pies like ’em again as long as I live.  Do you know, Euphrasia, there were two reasons why those were the best pies I ever ate?”

“What were they?” she asked, apparently unmoved.

“First,” said Tom, “because you made ’em, and second, because they were stolen.”

Truly, young Tom had a way with women, had he only been aware of it.

“I never took much stock in stolen things,” said Euphrasia.

“It’s because you never were tempted with such pie as that,” replied the audacious Mr. Gaylord.

“You’re gettin’ almighty stout,” said Euphrasia.

As we see her this morning, could she indeed ever have had a love affair?

“I don’t have to use my legs as much as I once did,” said Tom.  And this remark brought to an end the first phase of this conversation,—­brought to an end, apparently, all conversation whatsoever.  Tom racked his brain for a new topic, opened his roll-top desk, drummed on it, looked up at the ceiling and whistled softly, and then turned and faced again the imperturbable Euphrasia.

“Euphrasia,” he said, you’re not exactly a politician, I believe.”

“Well,” said Euphrasia, “I’ve be’n maligned a good many times, but nobody ever went that far.”

Mr. Gaylord shook with laughter.

“Then I guess there’s no harm in confiding political secrets to you,” he said.  “I’ve been around the State some this week, talking to people I know, and I believe if your Austen wasn’t so obstinate, we could make him governor.”

“Obstinate?” ejaculated Euphrasia.

“Yes,” said Tom, with a twinkle in his eye, “obstinate.  He doesn’t seem to want something that most men would give their souls for.”

“And why should he dirty himself with politics?” she demanded.  “In the years I’ve lived with Hilary Vane I’ve seen enough of politicians, goodness knows.  I never want to see another.”

“If Austen was governor, we’d change some of that.  But mind, Euphrasia, this is a secret,” said Tom, raising a warning finger.  “If Austen hears about it now, the jig’s up.”

Euphrasia considered and thawed a little.

“They don’t often have governors that young, do they?” she asked.

“No,” said Tom, forcibly, “they don’t.  And so far as I know, they haven’t had such a governor for years as Austen would make.  But he won’t push himself.  You know, Euphrasia, I have always believed that he will be President some day.”

Euphrasia received this somewhat startling prediction complacently.  She had no doubt of its accuracy, but the enunciation of it raised young Tom in her estimation, and incidentally brought her nearer her topic.