CHAPTER XXIII.
THE CONVENTION.
Though Peter had not gone to bed so early as he hoped, he was up the next morning, and had tramped his eight miles through and around Saratoga, before the place gave many evidences of life.

He ended his tramp at the Congress spring, and tasted the famous water, with exceeding disgust at the result.

As he set down his half-finished tumbler, and turned to leave, he found Miss De Voe at his elbow, about to take her morning glass.
"This is a very pleasant surprise," she said, holding out her hand.
"When did you arrive ?" "I only came last night." "And how long shall you be here ?" "I cannot say.

I am attending the convention, and my stay will depend on that." "Surely you are not a Democrat ?" said Miss De Voe, a shade of horror showing itself in her face, in spite of her good breeding.

In those days it was not, to put it mildly, a guarantee of respectability to belong to that party, and Miss De Voe had the strong prejudices of her social station, all the more because she was absolutely ignorant of political events.
Peter said he was.
"How can you be?
When a man can ally himself with the best, why should he choose the worst ?" "I think," said Peter quietly, "that a Pharisee said the same thing, in different words, many hundred years ago." Miss De Voe caught her breath and flushed.