But, in spite of these
discomforts, Enoch managed to ride many miles, during the day, with his
horse beside Diana's. And he talked to her as though he must in the
short five days make up for a life time of reticence.
He told her of the Seatons and all that John Seaton had done for him.
He told her of his years of dreaming of the Canyon and of his days as
Police Commissioner. He told of dreams he had had as a Congressman and
as a Senator and of the great hopes with which he had taken up the work
of the Secretary of the Interior. And finally, as the wind began to
lessen with the sinking sun, and the tired horses slowed to the trail's
lifting from the bowl, he told her of his last speaking trip, of its
purpose and of its results.
"The more I know you," said Diana, "the more I am confirmed in the
opinion I had of you years before I met you. And that is that however
our great Departments need men of your administrative capacity and
integrity--and I'm perfectly willing to admit that their need is
dire--your place, Enoch Huntingdon, is in the Senate. Yet I suppose
your party will insist on pushing you on into the White House. And it
will be a mistake."
"Why?" asked Enoch quickly.
"Because," replied Diana, brushing the lavender dust from her brown
hands thoughtfully, "your gift of oratory, your fundamental, sane
dreams for the nation, your admirable character, impose a particular
and peculiar duty on you.
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