dreamy and theatrical with herself and superior, like Farwell; and I
guess I thought they thought they'd discovered they were "kindred
souls," and that each of them understood (without saying it) that both
of them felt that Farwell's lot in life was a hard one because
Mrs. Knowles wasn't up to him. Bella gave him little, quiet, deep
glances, that seemed to help her play the part of a person who
understood everything--especially him, and reverenced greatness--
especially his. I remember a fellow who called the sort of game it
struck me they were carrying on "those soully flirtations."

Well, sir, I wasn't long puzzling over why he had brought _me_ up
there. It stuck out all over, though they didn't know it, and would
have been mighty astonished to think that I saw. It was in their
manner, in her condescending ways with me, in her assumption of
serious interest, and in his going through the trick of "drawing me
out," and exhibiting me to her. I'll have to admit that these young
people viewed me in the light of a "character." That was the part
Farwell had me there to play.

I can't say I was too pleased with the notion, and I was kind of sorry
for Mrs. Knowles, too. I'd have staked a good deal that my guess was
right, for instance: that Farwell had gone first to this girl for her
congratulations when he got the nomination, instead of to his wife;
and that she felt--or pretended she felt--a soully sympathy with his
ambitions; that she wanted to be, or to play the part of, a woman of
affairs, and that he talked over everything he knew with her. I
imagined they thought they were studying political reform together,
and she, in her novel-reading way, wanted to pose to herself as the
brilliant lady diplomat, kind of a Madam Roland advising statesmen, or
something of that sort. And I was there as part of their political