. The Washinstonia u- flA. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES mans Ttfackiv > with Washington is based upon the ^well-known woman, The catastrophe : great lady's ambi- The book will be of :h is, upon the per- igh the charm of its ncoln's Cabinet and u: The Washingtonian< Pauline Bradford Mackie Frontispiece!)^ PhilipR.Goochmn PAGE The Washingtonians 'Bradford zMacki Pauline Bradford Mackie's new novel deals with Washington official society in the early sixties. The plot is based upon the career (not long since ended) of a brilliant and well-known woman, who was at that time a power in official circles. The catastrophe which forms the turning-point is the wreck of the great lady's ambi- tion, which was to make her father President. The book will be of interest in the insight it affords into history, which is, upon the per- sonal side, as yet unwritten, and will please through the charm of its love story between the niece of a member of Lincoln's Cabinet and his private secretary. The Washingtonians "Works of Pauline Bradford Mackie Mademoiselle de Berny A Story of Valley Forge Ye Lyttle Salem Maide A Story of Witchcraft A Georgian Actress The Washingtonians L. C PAGE & COMPANY 200 Summer Street, Boston, Mass. "THE PRESIDENT WAITED PATIENTLY/ (.See page 302.) The Washingtonians By Pauline Bradford Mackie (Mrs. Herbert Miiller Hopkins) Author of Mademoiselle de Berny," "Ye Lyttle Salem Maide," " A Georgian Actress," etc. With a Frontispiece by Philip R. Goodwin BOSTON L. C. PAGE 6- COMPANY MDCCCCII Copyright, TQOI BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANV (INCORPORATED) All rights reserved Colonial $rrs3 Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston. Mass . U. S. A. THIS STORY, WHICH HER LOVING SYMPATHY INSPIRED, IS DEDICATED BY "ONE OF HER CHILDREN" ^vt~t-^fr0 The Washingtonians Chapter I MRS. MATTHEWS and her father's private secretary sat on the upper step of the low verandah. The two had been gossiping idly for an hour past, and they still lingered with the pleasant languor of the Indian summer afternoon. The place had a quaint air, homelike, al- though it suggested an old-fashioned country courthouse. From the four fluted white pillars the Virginia creeper hung scarlet, and its ripe purple berries when they dropped left a stain like wine on the floor of the porch. The great front door stood hospitably open. Above the lintel was the sunburst of glass, then the fashion, and down either side of the door were panel windows. The ground in front sloped by long and gentle reaches to the country road. Two stiff rows of Lombardy poplars bordered the gravelled driveway. Mrs. Matthews yawned. " How stupid you are," she remarked. " You haven't said anything for half an hour at least. I've often The Washingtonians thought what a pleasant time I might have if other people were as interesting and good- natured as I am myself." " I always said you were good-natured," Prentiss answered, stooping to select some pebbles from the driveway. " Oh, I don't mind what you think," she retorted. " There are those who find me fas- cinating. I suppose I ought to go in and dress for dinner, but the day is so delicious. Look into what drifts the leaves have blown. We must have a bonfire supper-party and roast potatoes. And how yellow that late maple is ! What are you going to do with those stones ? Play hop-scotch ? You'd better call Virginia. You two are such children." He glanced up quickly. His face, melan- choly in repose, was charming when he smiled. " I merely had an idea of how I wanted to group a scene in my new play. I'll show you in a minute." He drew out his pencil and marked a space carefully on the floor. She watched him, smiling. He had his overcoat thrown lightly around his shoulders, but had not put on his hat. "You have such old-fashioned hair, David, just the kind of silky, chestnut ringlets the young minister always had in the sentimental novels our grand- mothers used to read. Suppose you had pink cheeks and china blue eyes as well ? Wouldn't you be ridiculous ? " The Washingtonians " Do you think it's nice of you to say that ? " he protested, half-laughing, but his gray eyes sober with thought. " Let me see. How was I going to have that ? Oh, now I know. This is the stage, of course." He made some dots within the enclosed space. " This is a table. Over here are two chairs, and another one 19 here. Now here's my sofa for my lovers. This is to be a modern play in blank verse, but it's difficult to make it con- vincing in a prose age. Still, I shall succeed in time, I know. This is my heroine, modern, ambitious, beautiful, your style." She smiled. " Still, not of a beauty which would appeal to the poet. She shall typify a certain grow- ing class of American women possessed of an egotism so extreme as to approach greatness." " Really and truly, David," put in Mrs. Matthews, her beautiful eyes twinkling, " I've often wondered where you got your nice dis- position." " And this big stone," he continued, " is my heroine's father, a man of tremendous heart and brain. This smooth little fellow is my villain. We'll call him, say, Senator " " Never mind the name," she interrupted. " Who's this ? " " That's Countess Polonski, but I don't know what to do with her. She's all that is desirable to give the richness of a foreign back- The Washingtonians ground. Her husband doesn't come in this act. I'll reserve him. She's just the person to give colour to my play, and I've had her say lots of witty things, but I can't make her do anything except walk around like a figure- piece on which I've hung my pertinent say- ings. It's rather perplexing, but I won't give her up. I'll wait to see if she won't do some- thing positive in real life." " You make me think of a big spider, David," said Mrs. Matthews, "and your aw- ful modern play is your web, your pretty parlour, which you are inviting all us poor flies to enter. I shall warn Katrina to commit no indiscretion. Who's this ? " " That's Virginia." " Oh, Virginia." They both laughed. " She's a precious child," said Prentiss. " But take her out. She doesn't come in this scene. This is my heroine's husband. He's rich." " But the plot," she interposed, impatiently, " tell me what it is. I can see you're putting us all in, and I don't think it's a bit nice of you. But what I want to know is the plot. All I ask of you is not to make me too sweet. I can carry off a touch of malice, but don't make me out a gentle Amelia." " My plot isn't fully developed. The only parts I have finished are my love scenes, and The Washingtonians they made themselves. The play has a polit- ical bearing and is to be laid right here in the Capital. I shall manufacture some scheme which my heroine shall divulge only to the villain in order to gain his assistance. But this, you see, gives rise to a delicate question. Should or should not the lady repose confi- dence in a man other than her husband ? " He drew out his note-book. " I must jot down that grouping. It promises action." His companion rose. As she stepped by her skirts brushed the pebbles wide. " Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, laughing, " but acci- dents will happen when playwrights become impertinent." As she entered the spacious hall which ran straight through the centre of the house, she saw that the further door was open and that the negroes were loitering on the back steps. Her own maid was standing with a basket of snowy clothes on her head, her arms akimbo, eyeing saucily the butler who was talking ex- citedly. The other servants looked on grin- ning. " Ellen," called Mrs. Matthews, " is your ironing finished?" Her voice, perfect in quality, had the ring of authority. There was a scattering and disappearance of the idlers. She went slowly up the broad staircase and down the hall to her cousin's room. The Washlngtonians " Come in," called a happy voice in answer to her rap. " The door isn't locked, is it ? " She entered a small room, in which the cur- tains had been carefully drawn to exclude the daylight. The wax candles on the brackets of the mahogany bureau were burning. A girl stood in front of the mirror, draping a black lace scarf about her shoulders. They were white, pretty shoulders, girlishly thin. Her thick brown hair was knotted low in the nape of her neck. Lashes, long and curling, gave a starry look to her blue eyes. She hurriedly drew off the scarf. " I was just trying to see how this old thing would look at night." She blew out the candles. " Still, Portia, it's real lace even if it is old, and I never can feel anything but a lady if I have on a bit of real lace, can you ? " Virginia was embarrassed. Attention to her toilet in the presence of such a woman as her cousin seemed presumption, as if she should dream of being anything but insignificant in the presence of such beauty. Mrs. Matthews seated herself at the window and pushed open the green-shuttered blinds. " No wonder your cheeks are so flushed," she remarked, " the air is stifling in here." " Are they too pink ? " asked Virginia, anx- iously, " I did put on just a touch. Does it look unnatural ? " " You vain child ! At your age ! " said her The Washingtonians cousin. " I ought to be dressing myself. I merely dropped in to see if you'd arranged the flowers for the table. I've been for a stroll and I brought home this splendid goldenrod. Will you attend to it ? " Virginia took the feathery sprays, and, sit- ting down on the edge of the bed, began to rearrange them. " What a lovely yellow ! Uncle Phineas likes the goldenrod so much, doesn't he? I'll put this in the big Canton bowl in the hall." The low western sunlight that Mrs. Mat- thews had let into the room seemed to con- centrate upon the gorgeous bloom, which filled Virginia's lap and cast a saffron reflection upon her naked arms and shoulders and bending face. She laughed. " Portia dear," she cried, " I do love beauti- ful colour so much. Gloomy colours make me sad. If I could only wear yellow, but it doesn't become me, does it ? " "Just one thing more," said Mrs. Mat- thews, "then I must go. If Tom should bring Mr. La Cerf home for dinner, he said he was going to look him up to-day, and Tom never can meet a friend without urging him to come home with him to dinner, you know, I want you to keep him out of my way and give me an opportunity to talk to Senator Chadwick." "Yes, indeed," cried Virginia, casting the 8 The Washingtonians goldenrod on the bed and going over to the mirror. She forgot her cousin's beauty and spoke as woman to woman. "You. don't think my neck is too thin to wear that scarf, do you ? " she inquired anxiously. She picked up her handglass and held it so as to see the back of her head in the large mirror. " I don't know, though. I'm pretty thin. Still, I'm artistic. Take the lines of my head and neck. I haven't the blood of the Fairfaxes in me for nothing. I guess I'll wear it. Portia," she added as her cousin was leaving the room, "would you call Mr. La Cerf the handsomest man you ever saw ? " " For an Indian, yes," answered Mrs. Mat- thews. " I always feel when my back is toward him as if there were a panther at my heels. I suppose it's the racial prejudice. Besides, he always makes me feel as if I ought to be a missionary. He's so far from being really civilised." " He's civilised," protested Virginia; "he's been to Harvard and he's a good churchman." " Fiddlesticks ! " retorted Mrs. Matthews. " He's perfectly uncultured and he's super- stitious. He enjoys the rites of the Church as he would a snake-dance or pow-wow." She found her maid, a pretty mulatto, put- ting away the clean clothes. " Do that later, Ellen," she said. " Go down and see if the papers have come." The Washingtonians While the girl brushed out her mistress's long and shining hair and carried it up deftly in a golden twist on her head, Mrs. Matthews read the New York morning papers which had just arrived. She reached over and took the scissors from her dressing-table and cut out sev- eral articles. The mutilated papers fell rustling about the kneeling maid, who with all her race's love of luxury drew on with caressing touches the white silk stockings and fastened the pearl- embroidered slippers. When she was dressed save for the putting on of her gown, Mrs. Matthews sent the girl away. Then she slipped on a little dressing- jacket and seated herself at her desk. It was a massive piece of furniture and had an air of almost masculine dignity and simplicity. Otherwise the large room, with its lofty and elaborate frescoed mouldings, was distinctly feminine. The chairs and sofa were upholstered in English chintz of a flowered design and the windows had curtains of the same material. The fireplace was of white marble elaborately carved in leaves and bunches of grapes. The chief ornaments on the mantel were two large blue china urns with much adornment of pink roses, cupids, and gilt. These had been her father's wedding gift to her mother. Even their hideousness through long attachment wakened a humourous tenderness in Portia. She finished pasting the clippings in a book io The Washingtonians bulky with many other newspaper articles. Then almost mechanically, absorbed in thought, she arose and crossed over to the wash-stand and removed the paste from her finger-tips. She glanced at the clock and saw that it was still early for dinner, so she turned down the lamp she had lighted on her desk and seated herself at the open window. " I am in love with the day," she said to herself, smiling. " I cannot bear to see it go." And she thought of George Herbert's poem a favourite of her father's beginning " Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright." Opposite the window rose the column of the verandah with its encircling vine now almost bare of leaves. The trees of the dis- tant woods were hazy against the yellow west. Some one was making a bonfire, and the blue smoke wavered up. Her gaze travelled over dusky, familiar outlines. The land she looked upon was her own. It had once been her father's, but she had persuaded her husband to buy it and deed it to her. She had intense love of possession, and the pride of ownership rose in her heart as she gazed. On her father's side she came of good farming people. She had put considerable money in the bank drawn from the surplus of milk and eggs the place produced. For the present, however, she sent The Washingtonians n all that was not needed for household use to the sick soldiers in the hospital. She could see the dark moving shapes of her herd of cows on the country road, and the silhouette of an old darkey, slouching after them with his dog at his heels. She had one serious anxiety, and the news in the paper had been disquieting. Moreover, the war reports were as they always seemed to be, of the worst. Yet as she gazed out upon the peaceful scene, and heard the cows' mild lowing and the jan- gling of their bells, her innate love of the coun- try was satisfied and she felt serene as the evening. The door opened. " Are you here, Portia ? " asked her husband's voice. " Oh, I see you." She turned, and suddenly realised by the brightness of the low burning lamp how dark it had grown. She drew the curtains. " How do you feel to-night, Tom ? " " I'm tired," he answered, turning up the light which caught first the gold on his uniform and then illumined his face, which was both pale and worn. " I've had the blues all day. I don't get my strength back, and I'd hoped to return to my brigade before this." He flung aside his cape and sat down in the chair his wife vacated to watch her complete her toilet. He was five years older than she, but he had a boyish look that made their ages seem about 12 The Washingtonians the same. Her beauty was far too perfect a type to suggest girlishness. There was no opening of the bud in her, but an early fulfil- ment. She filled a glass of wine for him from the decanter on her bureau. " By the way," he said after drinking it, " I picked up La Cerf at the club and brought him home. I told Jim to lay another plate." " I knew you would," she replied. " I told Virginia so. You should have asked him to come to-morrow. Whenever I don't want a person at a big dinner I always ask him to come and dine quite informally with us some other day. It is most satisfactory. He is flat- tered by the intimacy, and my party hasn't been spoiled by an uncongenial person." General Matthews laughed. He was warmed by wine and cheered by her companionship. She was putting on her hooped satin skirt, and he had to move his chair out of the way. " There would be no soldiers if men had to fight in such toggery. I like* that gown on you." " Yes, dear," she answered, absently, clasp- ing her pearl necklace. " Was father in good spirits to-night ? " " I haven't seen him," he said. " La Cerf and I took the 'bus out Fourteenth Street and walked the rest of the way." " There's some one," she interrupted, " I The Washingtonians 13 heard the carriage. I must run on down. Come as soon as you can." Her hand on the door-knob, she looked back. His gaze annoyed her. " Shall I pour you out some more wine ? Do you feel faint ? " Then she remembered that she had not offered to kiss him when he came in. "You do put on such pathetic airs when you feel ill, Tom," she remarked, half-laughing, half-vexed, and going back she kissed him. Chapter II MRS. MATTHEWS cast a swift glance of approval over the table. She rec- ognised her cousin's artistic touch in the ar- rangement of the flowers, and, as she sank into a chair, she bestowed upon the girl a charming smile. Virginia coloured with child- like sensitiveness to praise or blame. " Senator Chadwick sent word that he might be detained," she announced, " and so I thought we would not wait." "It was very kind of you to take me in," said La Cerf, for whom a place had been made next to Virginia. " I didn't know I was stumbling in upon a dinner when I asked the general to take me home to-night. By the way, I saw our friend Fowler off to-day. He was well enough to leave the hospital and re- join his regiment. I didn't envy him. I am glad mine is the peaceful pursuit of the scholar." He smiled and toyed with the rose at his plate. His brown hand was small as a woman's. The soft, shaded lights and 'his faultless evening dress brought into strong relief his fierce and handsome features. He 4 The Washingtonians was the adopted son of an army officer, who, upon his death, had appointed General Mat- thews the boy's guardian. Education had made him effeminate. He pretended to schol- arly achievement, and had managed to remain a few months in the freshman class at Harvard. Prentiss was at Cambridge at the same time, and had tutored him in Greek and Latin, but had at last resigned the task in despair. For La Cerf, basking in the sunshine at the window, would interrupt the lessons by leaning out to watch some girl go by in the street below, or start to tease his dog, or again suddenly rise and seat himself at the piano. His idea of conscientious work consisted in staying through the hour. At the end of it he would whistle to his dog, and go cheerfully away to watch the college crew practising on the Charles. He had been too lazy even to try for a seat in the boat. Now, as he protested his scholarly tastes, Prentiss, recalling the Indian's many flirtations, was moved to wickedness. " Conjugate amo. La Cerf," he said. " Be still, both of you," commanded Mrs. Matthews. " Elise, pardon me. I've been trying to hear what you're saying." " I was merely saying that the trouble with the army and navy life is that you never know where you may be ordered next, especially now," answered her guest. " I'm so glad Mr. 1 6 The Washingtonians Haas's position keeps him at home. However, I'm not so selfish but that I'd give almost anything to have this horrid war ended, though of course I can scarcely take the same interest that I would if I still considered myself an American." Countess Polonski, the wife of the Russian minister, shrugged her bare shoulders, and cast her dark eyes heavenward. Then she lowered her gaze, and addressed herself with energy to the speaker. " Bah, my dear Elise ! That much," with a fillip of her jewelled fingers, " for your patriotism. I am a Russian, but had I been born a German, and my husband twice the Russian he is, I should have called myself a German. Or, had I been English or French, I should consider myself English or French to the day of my death. But," with a brilliant, laughing glance around the table, " had I been born an American, my husband, though he were twenty times a Russian, should become an American citizen." " Do not fail to specify that he should be a Northerner also," suggested General Matthews, in whose mind the subject of war was ever uppermost. Mrs. Haas chose to ignore the Russian's speech. She lifted the white rose at her plate and inhaled its fragrance. " Your flowers are lovely to-night, my The Washingtonians 17 dear," she remarked, drawing the long stem through the belt of her short-waisted gown. The green leaves and the masses of reddish- gold hair that etherealised her small, pale face were the only touches of colour about her. Her husband was correspondent of the New Tork Chronicle. He and his wife moved almost entirely in diplomatic circles. He was the son of a noble German family, and while visiting in America he had married the daugh- ter of his boarding-house keeper. The couple now awaited hopefully the death of his uncle, whose heir he was, and whose title he would take upon his recall to his ancestral home. He took a naive enjoyment in the excellent dinner, and carried on in an undertone a conversation with his neighbour, General Matthews. Secretary West at the head of the table tried to catch what they were saying. He was a man of tremendous build, with a great head and chest. His intellect, powerful rather than brilliant, shone with a steady light in his bluish-gray eyes overshadowed by level brows. His expression of predominating mind was softened by the mobile curves of his mouth, at once passionate and sensitive. He was smooth shaven, and this absence of beard em- phasised the Greek outlines of his face. It was significant that his best likeness had been done in marble. 1 8 The Washingtonians " Did I understand you to say that you had later news than to-night's paper gives us ? " he asked. " No," answered Haas. " I was only say- ing that all the rebels want now is a chance to give in gracefully. I saw the President to-day, and he said that they would give in on any terms, almost. What he wants is this blood- shed stopped." " It's nearing the end rapidly now," the Secretary rejoined. " It's only a matter of endurance, and yet I sometimes fear it may languish through another four years." " That is not likely," put in Haas. " We will hope for a change in administration." His glance was significant. He took much more interest in politics than did his wife, although she was an American born. Secretary West, fearful of sinking into a depression that would throw a cloud over the dinner, forced his attention away from the subject of the war. " Virginia," he asked, affectionately, " what have you been doing all day ? " " I ? Oh, lots of things," she replied, turn- ing brightly from fastening La CerPs rose on the lapel of his coat. " The gypsies have come again, and I have been to see them. The woman told my fortune. She said I was to be married within a year." " How I love gypsies ! " cried Countess Po- The Washingtonians 19 ionski. " They're so full of colour. Can't we go to see them after dinner? Think of the firelight dancing on the trees, and the swarthy faces ! There's such a wild sadness about those people." " They're a set of chicken thieves," inter- posed her hostess. " I shall have them chased off the place early. They all hate me from past experience. They wouldn't tell me any such good fortune as they did you, Virginia." " But you are married, Portia dear ! " cried Virginia, at which every one laughed. " There is no beauty so picturesque and fascinating as that which resembles the pure Romany gypsy's," remarked Haas. His glance at the Russian's brilliant face gave his words a personal meaning. " You forget," she retorted. " How about transfigured angels ? " A ripple of laughter went around the table, in which all but the Secretary, who did not understand the reference, joined. " To come but once in contact with heav- enly things has its effect for ever upon the dress," murmured Prentiss, in an aside to Countess Polonski. " Not at all, Mr. Prentiss," cried Mrs. Haas, a trifle sharply. " It was my own peculiar style of dress that first gave the artist his idea." " I really didn't mean you to hear me 2O The Washingtonians then," he said, so penitently that she smiled a forgiveness. " But the story ! Let's have the story ! " cried General Matthews, rousing himself guilt- ily from a fit of abstraction, as he happened to meet his wife's blue eyes fixed upon him. " It isn't much of a story, but it was pro- voking, wasn't it, Wilhelm ? " said Mrs. Haas, with an appealing glance at her husband. " An artist, a friend of ours, received an order for a stained-glass window to be put in a church in well, never mind where. Only, you'd be surprised if I told you. At the artist's re- quest, I posed for the angel. A beautiful design ! I had on this very gown I never say dress, it sounds so. As I was saying, I had on this very " " Robe," suggested Prentiss. " With my hair flowing over my shoulders," she continued. " And would you believe it, my dear Secretary, those horrid deacons refused to accept the window ! " " What reason did they give ? " asked the Secretary, drawing his judicial brows together. " They said it didn't have wings ! " " Wings ! " he cried, in wonder. " What didn't have wings ? " " I, the angel," she explained. " The artist made me a transfigured angel, one without wings, you know ; a mortal caught up to heaven. But those wretched deacons persisted The Washingtonians 21 that all angels had wings, or else they weren't angels." " Well, I must say it's the first time I ever heard of angels without feathers myself," he commented, much amused. " c The wing wherewith we fly to heaven,' " quoted Prentiss, with irritating aptness. " You don't need wings to convince us of your true worth, Mrs. Haas," observed Gen- eral Matthews, kindly. " We are none of us deacons." Dinner was nearly over when the peal of the doorbell was heard echoing through the hall. " By the pricking of my thumbs," began Prentiss, softly. " It's Senator Chadwick," said Mrs. Mat- thews. " I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself, David." " I'm sorry to be so late," the Senator said, taking his seat. " But I had to meet with the committee. Thank you, I have dined, Mrs. Matthews. Still, I don't know ; a little of the wine and fruit, perhaps. Nothing more, I beg you." His voice was exquisitely modulated. He sat silent, fingering the stem of his glass, his eyes upon the ruby sparkle of the wine. Virginia caught the gleam of light beneath his drooping lids. " He's getting ready to spring," she thought. Glancing up, she met La Cerf's dark look fixed on her, and flushed with a strange mingling of terror and delight. 22 The Washingtonians The conversation again became general, and, in a manner, intimate, as is apt to be the case in a small circle of friends having much the same prejudices and traditions. They spoke chiefly of the war, of the chaotic condition of affairs, political and social, then existing in Washington. Haas related that the President had been criticised for attending a Marine Band concert. " As if the poor man should not have his music ! Next they will grudge him the time he takes to eat. His music ! Ah, no man in my country would wish to deprive even his worst foe of music. How could we live without it, my Elise ? " smiling at his wife, whom he adored. Countess Polonski, always daring, referred to the latest gossip, that the President's wife entertained Southern sympathies. She was gravely rebuked by the Secretary himself. " I fear she has not conciliated the news- paper reporters, and, if so, there is no limit to the calumny they will spread about her. I myself know what it is to suffer bitterly from just such unwarranted personal attacks." His sensitive nostrils quivered scornfully. "Well, anyway," cried little Mrs. Haas, " she doesn't dress in very good taste. Now, does she ? " She could see herself in the mirror of the heavy walnut sideboard opposite. That white, childish figure, with its pensive face, its masses The Washingtonians 23 of golden hair, behind the gleaming array of the family silver, fascinated her. The glass was like the smooth surface of a lake, and she was reminded of a water-lily. " She is an excitable woman and she has had a hard row to hoe, but I know she is kindly at heart," spoke General Matthews. " Even if she did call me a hussy," said his wife, laughing. " But that isn't nearly as fatal as if she had said I didn't dress well." Matthews continued earnestly, not heeding her remark, " So many prominent people are falsely accused of Southern sympathies that suspicion runs riot. The danger is that such a wicked and libellous report may cause some crank to set fire to the White House or to assassinate its mistress, poor woman." "This sympathy for her," sighed Mrs. Matthews, with a comical glance. " I guess you can take care of yourself, my dear," he retorted, dryly. " My foolish tongue ! " cried Countess Po- lonski, with a smile that seemed to include them all in an indulgent condemnation of her- self. " I must be more discreet, only but there, I will say nothing. Am I not admira- ble in putting my good resolution into practice so soon ? " " I know what you are thinking," remarked Senator Chadwick. " You are hoping that we shall have a different social regime in the new 24 The Washingtonians administration." His eyes lingered in uncon- scious admiration upon her face. " This even- ing my committee drank the health of the honourable gentleman whom we hope to see our next President. He is a believer in the one term principle." Secretary West was staring at him. " A believer in the one term principle," he repeated, slowly. " My dear friend," cried Haas, his face light- ing with genuine warmth, " I drink to your health and success ! " Countess Polonski, her glass half-way to her lips, glanced at her hostess. " To you also," she said, and drank. Secretary West rose to respond to the toast. In moments of excitement his complexion ac- quired a luminous pallor. His fine eyes held a liquid brilliancy like his daughter's. But no quick change of expression could impart vivac- ity to him. He was built upon such massive and regular lines that any play of emotion was like the changing light upon a rock, on the sur- face merely. One felt that the real man was ponderous, unyielding, granite-like. " It is some weeks," he began, " since this committee with Senator Chadwick at its head waited upon me and urged me to consent to the use of my name as a candidate for the Presidential office. As you know, perhaps, I reserved my judgment. I have not as yet The Washingtonians 25 replied. Still, day by day, I might almost say hourly, so continual is the thought of it in my mind, I am becoming more and more disheartened over the manner in which the war is allowed to drag on. I feel that if I were at the head of the government I could bring the war to a speedy close. I would prosecute it with the greatest energy and refuse to let it languish longer. Conscious of my own rectitude, admitting my high and honourable ambition for the Presidency, knowing I esteem paramount to all else the good of the country, I will give my consent to your committee. If my consent shall prove to be a mistake, it will, at least, be one of patriotism." Prentiss was first to rise and shake hands with him. The others followed his example, with one exception. Mrs. Matthews alone noticed that her hus- band had withdrawn himself from the little circle. He, pale, disapproving, was cut to the heart by the look she gave him. She was last to offer her congratulations. The rest parted to make room for her as she crossed over, her lavender and silver satin skirt trailing behind her, her proud face lifted, smil- ing. She put her hands on either shoulder of her father and kissed him. It was one of the supreme moments of her life. Chapter III was served in the drawing-room. The windows which opened like doors on to the verandah were flung wide. It was unusually warm for the season. Countess Po- lonski, a graceful figure in her crimson gown, played a duet with Mr. Haas on the piano at the further end of the long room. The deli- cious air, the softly shaded lamps, and the music, cast an entrancing spell over the little group. " Virginia," asked Mrs. Matthews, " will you please run up-stairs and get me my white lace shawl ? I think it's in my lower bureau drawer." Secretary West, who had a simple and homely taste for the singing of hymns of an evening, was rummaging in the music-rack for a church-hymnal. La Cerf, too, drew near the piano and leant over one side of it, smoking a cigarette. He had received his early education in a mission school in the West, and he had the unquestion- ing faith of a child. He loved to attend the Episcopal Church in which he was confirmed. 26 The Washingtonians 27 The ritualistic service had a wonderful fascina- tion for him. He had a habit also of dropping into one of the old Roman Catholic churches in the city, and would sit for an hour at a time steeped in that atmosphere of richness and mystery, watching the shifting sunlight stream- ing through the stained-glass windows, gazing at the delicately painted statue of the blue-eyed Virgin, surrounded by candles, the perpetual lamp burning in front of her altar. Now he put down his cigarette and joined in the familiar tune to which the countess played the accom- paniment. His voice had the vibrant quality of a reed stop in the pipe organ, a nasal, dron- ing sound most offensive to the Secretary. He thought the Indian's voice imparted a bar- baric note to the singing, and he was, more- over, physically repelled by him. He never could quite understand how it was that he had him forced upon him in his home and at his table as an equal, but laid the charge vaguely at his daughter's door. He regarded La Cerf in much the same light he did his negro coachman and never shook hands with him. Prentiss managed to slip unobserved out of the room. His evening's work lay untouched on the study table. As he stepped into the hall, he saw Virginia come tripping down the stairs, an end of the lace shawl trailing after her. He held the door shut for a moment to detain her. 28 The Washingtonians " You look so pretty to-night." He smiled affectionately at her. "Do I ? " she asked, dimpling ; I didn't know. You see I I Well, what I really mean, David, is Do you think I'm too thin to wear low neck ? " " Not a bit," he answered, his eyes dancing. The library was across the hall. No one ever occupied it in the evening except himself, and so at night it became his sanctum sancto- rum. He drew the curtains and lighted the lamp. It was a splendid brass lamp, with a green shade ornamented by a gold dragon. He sat down at the table, and cleared a space among the piles of papers and letters. Then he drew his cloisonne tobacco-jar toward him, and filled his pipe. Mrs. Matthews had brought him the jar from Japan, and he always main- tained that it was the source of endless inspi- ration to him. A pile of letters requiring immediate answers fixed his attention, and he promptly extinguished them beneath the big dictionary. He smoked with quiet enjoyment, his gaze fixed on the books that lined the walls. What splendid companionship, what endless resource was there ! He promised himself sometime an evening of leisure, when he should browse among them to his heart's content. He had been too close a student to have time for random reading. In the further corner of the room stood the pedestal which held the The Washingtonians 29 life-size marble bust of the Secretary. On the other side of the room was the chair which had been Virginia's when he heard her lessons, at the request of her uncle, who believed in a classical education for girls, under tutors at home. Portia's instruction had been given in this fashion, although her father's income at that time was so small that he had taught her himself. But Virginia suddenly blossomed into womanhood, and refused to study longer, so that Prentiss's relation to her as tutor lasted less than six months. Yet the impression her personality had made on him was so strong that often of an evening he looked up from his books half-expectant of her companionship. He could evoke her image at will, the lace at her little throat, her grave, attentive face, the impatient tapping of her slippered foot if the lesson seemed too long. He remembered particularly the pale blue bow she sometimes wore in her brown hair. And if his fancy so tricked him that the sud- den realisation of her absence brought its sting of disappointment, he was at once consoled by the consciousness of her presence under the same roof with him. After a little, he drew the manuscript of his play from the drawer, and also several small objects, an old paper- weight, a tiny bottle, a paste-jar, a little Chi- nese idol, and some images in wood which he had whittled out himself. They looked much 30 The Washingtonians like the wooden figures in a child's Noah's ark, and he bestowed upon them the various names of his heroines. The other articles had acquired a masculine significance by hav- ing stood for the men in his plays. As he worked, his face lost its wearied look and glowed with mental excitement. He wrote slowly at first, then more rapidly, until at last his pen moved almost feverishly across the paper. Now and then he paused to shift the positions of the tiny objects on the table's mimic stage, or to refill his pipe. It was half- past eleven when he paused exhausted. He numbered the pages he had written, but did not attempt to read them over. He knew that he had done good work ; that when he came to revise it, he would be surprised at its excellence. But now that the mood of inspiration had passed, he felt weary and in- different. He removed his glasses, and passed his hand across his eyes. He turned down the lamp-light, but first brought the letters forth from under the dictionary, and put them in a conspicuous position. Later he would answer them, after a short walk in the open air. To his surprise, he found Mrs. Matthews on the verandah. She was rocking gently to and fro in a large wicker chair, her hands clasped behind her head, as she watched the moon now low in the west. The Washingtonians 3 1 " We are going to have a change in the weather," she remarked. " There's a ring around the moon. Take off your bonnet," she added, " and sit down." " My bonnet," he echoed. " Oh ! " He drew off his green eye-shade hastily. Portia had a way of making him feel absurd. She laughed. " I forgot I had it on," he explained. He drew up a chair. " What has become of our friends ? " " They went home some time ago," she answered. " Father, the general, and Vir- ginia have all gone to bed." " Why isn't Polonski ever with his wife ? I hate to see a married woman so well, so independent. I'd never allow it in my wife," remarked Prentiss. " Poor Katrina ! I'm sure it isn't her fault. She can't keep herself shut up like a nun be- cause her husband eschews society and spends most of his time at his club. I didn't count on him to-night, although I invited him. You know he never goes anywhere unless it's strictly official. What do you think of Sena- tor Chadwick ? " "He has the finest voice I ever heard," he answered ; " but I don't like him. He's too calculating. I think he tries to make you feel that your tact and woman's wit, as well as his admiration for you, have influenced him 32 The Washingtonians to work for your father. But in his heart I don't believe he cares a jot what your opinion of him is. He's too cold to be vain. He's all ambition. He doesn't care for women. He sees a big opportunity for himself if your father's elected. He'll get the credit of mak- ing our next President." " I think you're only half right," she an- swered. " Remember I see him from a woman's standpoint. He's so clever that he seems cold. But he isn't so really, and he enjoys women's society. They aren't as rough as men ! " She laughed. " And vain ! Do you think that he didn't know that he was making an impression when he came in late to dinner and announced how the committee stood ? Wasn't that a direct bid for admiration ? Do you think he would have wasted such an effective entrance on men ? " She drew the filmy lace shawl close about her. She was like some fair goddess in the moonlight. Prentiss made a vague wide gesture that seemed to include both her and the lovely night, as he asked, abruptly : " Why aren't our lives more like this ? Why is it life cheapens people so ? We lose our genius. I had higher ideals, more inspiration, ten years ago than now. If we commence life by pull- ing with the current, we end by drifting with it. We were meant to be immortals, and we The Washingtonians 33 turn out to be magpies ! I forget who said that, but it's true. And I'm beginning to find that habits of material comfort grow on me. I take my first swallow of coffee suspiciously like an epicure, and I'm miserable if I go out to dinner and my barbarous host fails to invite me to smoke. Moreover, I find myself of late taking an interest in gossip ! " " Oh, I love gossip," cried Mrs. Mat- thews, merrily. " I welcome the veriest tittle- tattle. My regret is that I don't dare indulge in it except with Katrina Polonski. We all like to talk about people, not maliciously, by any manner of means, but because our com- mon humanity makes them interesting. We wonder and compare notes with our intimates, but make a fine and decent pretence of being interested only in books when with people we're not sure of. But when you say life cheapens us it isn't entirely true. At least you and I know father." The only love she knew which carried with it a touch of passion- ate feeling spoke now in her eyes and voice. " Oh, he's an immortal ! " said Prentiss. " That is because his mind is like some great, white, cool gallery filled with statues. But the most of us have minds like toy-shops crowded with tin whistles and wooden animals. He is marble, but the rest of us are putty, and take the impress of every finger touch. If we only " 34 The Washingtonians