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The Wife of the Candidate
understand each other at last. You can write to her, or you can even see her and tell her so. And do you not see that there might never have been this reconciliation if she had remained in this great, busy world?"
She put out her hands. Mrs. Eddington grasped them and held them tightly pressed in her own. Their position recalled to her vividly a tender memory which swept away her self-control. She leaned forward, and, with quivering lips, kissed the newspaper woman on each cheek.
"I am sure," she said brokenly, "that Dolores kissed you good-by in that way, in our Spanish fashion. You do not mind if I seem to take that last caress of hers in this way, do you? You know you felt it belonged to me."
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