She was sure I was
elected. If not (and here her voice melted) the people were not fit to
have such a pearl offered to them. I went, and it was half-past ten
when I returned. She heard my step, and rushed down to meet me at the
front door. I was calm and smiling.
"Defeated by one hundred and fourteen votes, dear. A close fight,
wasn't it?"
"Ah, Fred, defeated! You poor, poor boy."
"I can stand it if you can, Josephine," I answered, as with my arm
wound around her waist I led her into the dining-room, where the
stalled ox and truffled turkey and a glittering array of glass
confronted us.
"It was that horrid soup-tureen did it, I am convinced," she murmured,
sitting down beside me on the sofa.
"Nonsense, dear. Everyone says I got a wonderful vote against such
odds. They are talking about it down town as though I had won a
victory. Nick is called a great manager."
"But that Spinney is elected all the same," she said, dejectedly.
"Yes, he is, Josephine. We can't escape from that. I tell you what,
I'm going to have a glass of champagne," I said, entering the china
closet and taking possession of one of the bottles which had been
packed in ice for the refreshment of my friends. I filled a glass for
each of us and drained mine to the philosophical toast, "Here's to
peace and a quiet life, my dear.
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