And Bassett is a man of surprising tastes. He's a book collector,--rare
editions and fine bindings and that sort of thing."

"Is it possible! The newspapers that abuse him never mention those
things, of course," said Mrs. Martin.

A brief restraint fell upon the company, as they realized suddenly that
they were discussing the husband of their hostess's niece, whom the
opposition press declared to be the most vicious character that had ever
appeared in the public life of the state. The minister had spoken well
of him; the others did not know him, or spoke cautiously; and Mrs. Owen
herself seemed, during Ware's last speech, to be a trifle restless. She
addressed some irrelevant remark to the admiral as they rose and
adjourned to the long side veranda where the men lighted cigars.

"I think I like this corner best," remarked Ware when the others had
disposed themselves. "Miss Sylvia, won't you sit by me?" She watched his
face as the match flamed to his cigar. It was deep-lined and rugged,
with high cheek bones, that showed plainly when he shut his jaws. It
occurred to Sylvia that but for his mustache his face would have been
almost typically Indian. She had seen somewhere a photograph of a Sioux
chief whose austere countenance was very like the minister's. Ware did
not fit into any of her preconceived ideas of the clerical office. Dr.
Wandless, the retired president of Madison College, was a minister, and
any one would have known it, for the fact was proclaimed by his dress
and manner; he might, in the most casual meeting on the campus, have
raised his hands in benediction without doing anything at all
extraordinary. Ware belonged to a strikingly different order, and Sylvia
did not understand him. He had been a soldier; and Sylvia could not
imagine Dr. Wandless in a cavalry charge. Ware flung the match-stick