A WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY BALL
The Bassetts moved to the capital that winter, arriving with the phalanx
of legislators in January, and establishing themselves in a furnished
house opportunely vacated by the Bosworths, who were taking the
Mediterranean trip. Bassett had been careful to announce to the people
of Fraserville that the removal was only temporary, and that he and his
family would return in the spring, but Marian held private opinions
quite at variance with her father's published statements.
Mrs. Bassett's acquiescence had been due to Mrs. Owen's surprising
support of Marian's plan. In declaring that she would never, never
consent to live in a flat, Mrs. Bassett had hoped to dispose of Marian's
importunities, to which Bassett had latterly lent mild approval. When,
however, Mrs. Owen suggested the Bosworth house, which could be occupied
with the minimum of domestic vexation, Mrs. Bassett promptly consented,
feeling that her aunt's interest might conceal a desire in the old
lady's breast to have some of her kinsfolk near her. Mrs. Bassett had
not allowed her husband to forget the dangerous juxtaposition of Sylvia
Garrison to Mrs. Owen's check-book. "That girl," as Mrs. Bassett
designated Sylvia in private conversation with her husband, had been
planted in Elizabeth House for a purpose. Her relief that Sylvia had not
been settled in the Delaware Street residence had been of short
duration: Mrs. Bassett saw now that it was only the girl's adroit method
of impressing upon Mrs. Owen her humility and altruism. Still Mrs.
Bassett was not wholly unhappy. It was something to be near at hand
where she could keep track of Sylvia's movements; and the social scene
at the capital was not without its interest for her. She was not merely
the wife of Morton Bassett, but the only child of the late Blackford
Singleton, sometime Senator in Congress. She was moreover the niece of
Sally Owen, and this in itself was a social asset. She showed her
husband the cards that were left at their door, and called his attention
to the fact that the representative people of the capital were looking
them up. He made the mistake of suggesting that the husbands of most of
the women who had called had axes to grind at the State House,--a
suggestion intended to be humorous; but she answered that many of her
callers were old friends of the Singletons, and she expressed the hope
that he would so conduct himself as to adorn less frequently the
newspaper headlines; the broad advertisement of his iniquities would be
so much worse now that they were in the city, and with Marian's future
to consider, and all.
It should be said that Marian's arrival had not gone unheeded. The
society columns of the capital welcomed her, and the "Advertiser"
reproduced her photograph in a picture hat. She began at once to be
among those included in all manner of functions. Allen danced
cheerfully to her piping and she still telephoned to Harwood when she
thought of ways of using him. Mrs. Owen had declared her intention of
giving a "party" to introduce Marian to the society of the capital.
Sally Owen had not given a "party" since Mrs. Bassett's coming out, but
she brought the same energy and thoroughness to bear upon a social
affair that characterized her business undertakings. In preparing the
list (in itself a task) and in the discussion of details, it was
necessary of course to consult Marian,--one usually heard Marian's views
whether one consulted her or not,--but she and her aunt were on the best
of terms, and Mrs. Owen was sincerely anxious to satisfy her in every
particular. On half a dozen evenings Allen or Dan brought Sylvia to the
Delaware Street house to meet Marian and plan the coming event. No one
would have imagined, from the zest with which Sylvia discussed such deep
questions as the employment of musicians, the decorating of the hall,
the german favors and the refreshments, that she had been at work all
day in a schoolroom that had been built before ventilation was invented.
When Sylvia was busy, she was the busiest of mortals, but when she threw
herself heart and soul into play, it was with the completest detachment.
She accomplished wonderful things in the way of work after schoolhours
if she received warning that either of her faithful knights meditated a
descent upon her. During these councils of war to plan Marian's belated
début, Sylvia might snowball Allen or Dan or both of them all the way
from Elizabeth House to Mrs. Owen's door, and then appear demurely
before that amiable soul, with cheeks aglow and dark eyes flashing, and
Mrs. Owen would say: "This school-teaching ain't good for you, Sylvia;
it seems to be breaking down your health." That was a lively
quartette--Sylvia, Marian, Allen, and Dan!
Dan, now duly sworn to serve the state faithfully as a legislator, had
been placed on several important committees, and a busy winter stretched
before him. Morton Bassett's hand lay heavily upon the legislature; the
young man had never realized until he took his seat in the lower house
how firmly Bassett gripped the commonwealth. Every committee appointment
in both houses had to be approved by the senator from Fraser. Dan's
selection as chairman of the committee on corporations both pleased and
annoyed him. He would have liked to believe himself honestly chosen by
the speaker on the score of fitness; but he knew well enough that there
were older men, veteran legislators, more familiar with the state's
needs and dangers, who had a better right to the honor. The watchful
"Advertiser" had not overlooked his appointment. On the day the
committees were announced it laid before its readers a cartoon depicting
Bassett, seated at his desk in the senate, clutching wires that radiated
to every seat in the lower house. One desk set forth conspicuously in
the foreground was inscribed "D.H." "The Lion and Daniel" was the tag
affixed to this cartoon, which caused much merriment among Dan's friends
at the round table of the University Club.
Miss Bassett's début was fixed for Washington's Birthday, and as Mrs.
Owen's house had no ballroom (except one of those floored attics on
which our people persist in bestowing that ambitious title) she decided
that the Propylæum alone would serve. Pray do not reach for your
dictionary, my friend! No matter how much Greek may have survived your
commencement day, you would never know that our Propylæum (reared by the
women of our town in North Street, facing the pillared façade of the
Blind Institute) became, on its completion in 1890, the centre of our
intellectual and social life. The club "papers" read under that roof
constitute a literature all the nobler for the discretion that reserves
it for atrabilious local criticism; the later editions of our _jeunesse
dorée_ have danced there and Boxed and Coxed as Dramatic Club stars on
its stage. "Billy" Sumner once lectured there on "War" before the
Contemporary Club, to say nothing of Mr. James's appearance (herein
before mentioned), which left us, filled with wildest surmise, on the
crest of a new and ultimate Darien. Nor shall I omit that memorable tea
to the Chinese lady when the press became so great that a number of
timorous Occidentals in their best bib and tucker departed with all
possible dignity by way of the fire-escape. So the place being historic,
as things go in a new country, Mrs. Owen did not, in vulgar parlance,
"hire a hall," but gave her party in a social temple of loftiest
consecration.
It was a real winter night, with a snowstorm and the jangle of
sleigh-bells outside. The possibilities of a hall famed for its many
brilliant entertainments had never been more fully realized than on
this night of Marian Bassett's presentation. The stage was screened in a
rose-hung lattice that had denuded the conservatories of Newcastle and
Richmond; the fireplace was a bank of roses, and the walls were
festooned in evergreens. Nor should we overlook a profile of the father
of his country in white carnations on a green background, with all the
effect of a marble bas-relief,--a fitting embellishment for the
balcony,--done by the florist from Allen's design and under Allen's
critical eye.
In the receiving line, established in one of the lower parlors, were
Mrs. Owen, Mr. and Mrs. Morton Bassett, the Governor and his wife (he
happened just then to be a Republican), Colonel and Mrs. Vinning
(retired army people), and the pick of the last October's brides and
their young husbands. We may only glance hurriedly at the throng who
shook Mrs. Owen's hand, and were presented to Mr. and Mrs. Bassett and
by them in turn to their daughter. Every one remarked how stunning the
hostess looked (her gown was white, and in the latest fashion,
too,--none of your quaint old lace and lavender for Aunt Sally!), and
what amusing things she said to her guests as they filed by, knowing
them all and in her great good heart loving them all! It is something to
be an Aunt Sally where the name is a synonym for perpetual youth and
perpetual kindness and helpfulness. (And if Aunt Sally didn't live just
a little way down my own street, and if she hadn't bribed me not to "put
her in a book" with a gift of home-cured hams from her Greene County
farm last Christmas, there are many more things I should like to say of
her!)
Since the little affair of the "Courier" Morton Bassett had fought shy
of his wife's aunt; but to-night he stood beside her, enjoying, let us
hope, the grim humor of his juxtaposition to the only person who had
ever blocked any of his enterprises. Nothing escaped Mrs. Bassett, and
her heart softened toward her politician husband as she saw that next to
her aunt and Marian (a daughter to be proud of to-night!) Morton Bassett
was the person most observed of all observers. She noted the glances
bent upon him by the strangers to whom he was introduced, and many
acquaintances were at pains to recall themselves to him. Her husband was
a presentable man anywhere, and she resolved to deal more leniently with
his offenses in future. The governorship or a seat in the United States
Senate would amply repay her for the heartaches so often communicated by
the clipping bureau.
Mrs. Bassett prided herself on knowing who's who in her native state and
even she was satisfied that the gathering was representative. The "list"
had not been submitted for her approval; if it had been she might have
deleted certain names and substituted others. She was unable, for
example, to justify the presence of the senior Thatcher, though her
husband assured her in a tone of magnanimity that it was all right; and
she had never admired Colonel Ramsay, though to be sure nearly every one
else did. Was not the Colonel handsome, courteous, genial, eloquent,
worthy of all admiration? Mrs. Owen had chosen a few legislators from
among her acquaintances, chiefly gentlemen who had gallantly aided some
of her measures at earlier sessions of the assembly. This accounted for
the appearance of a lone Prohibitionist who by some miracle appeared
biennially in the lower house, and for a prominent labor leader whom
Mrs. Owen liked on general principles. The statesman who has already
loomed darkly in these pages as the Tallest Delegate was taller than
ever in a dress coat, but in all ways a citizen of whom Vermillion
County had reason to be proud. John Ware and Admiral Martin, finding
themselves uncomfortable in the crowd, rescued Thatcher and adjourned
with him to a room set apart for smokers. There they were regarded with
mild condescension by young gentlemen who rushed in from the dance,
mopping their brows and inhaling cigarettes for a moment, wearing the
melancholy air becoming to those who support the pillars of society.
At ten o'clock the receiving line had dissolved and the dance was in
full swing above. Sylvia had volunteered to act as Mrs. Owen's adjutant,
and she was up and down stairs many times looking after countless
details. She had just dispatched Allen to find partners for some
out-of-town girls when Morton Bassett accosted her in the hall.
"I'm thirsty, Miss Garrison; which punch bowl do you recommend to a man
of my temperate habits?"
She turned to the table and took a glass from Mrs. Owen's butler and
held it up.
"The only difference between the two is that one is pink. I put it in
myself. Your health and long life to Marian," said Sylvia.
"I'm going to take this chance to thank you for your kind interest in
Marian's party. We all appreciate it. Even if you didn't do it for us
but for Mrs. Owen, we're just as grateful. There's a lot of work in
carrying off an affair like this."
He seemed in no hurry and apparently wished to prolong the talk. They
withdrew out of the current of people passing up and down the stairway.
"You are not dancing?" he asked.
"No; I'm not here socially, so to speak. I'm not going out, you know; I
only wanted to help Mrs. Owen a little."
"Pardon me; I hadn't really forgotten. You are a busy person; Marian
tells me you have begun your teaching. You don't show any evidences of
wear."
"Oh, I never was so well in my life!"
"You will pardon me for mentioning it here, but--but I was sorry to hear
from Mr. Harwood that the teaching is necessary."
He was quite right, she thought, in saying that the time and place were
ill-suited to such a remark. He leaned against the wall and she noticed
that his lids drooped wearily. He seemed content to linger there, where
they caught fitfully glimpses of Marian's bright, happy face in the
dance. Mrs. Owen and Mrs. Bassett were sitting in a group of dowagers at
the other end of the ballroom, identifying and commenting upon the
season's débutantes.
"I suppose you are very busy now," Sylvia remarked.
Yes; this will be a busy session."
"And I suppose you have more to do than the others; it's the penalty of
leadership."
He flushed at the compliment, changed his position slightly, and avoided
her eyes for a moment. She detected in him to-night something that had
escaped her before. It might not be weariness after all that prompted
him to lean against the wall with one hand carelessly thrust into his
pocket; he was not a man to show physical weariness. It seemed, rather,
a stolid indifference either to the immediate scene or to more serious
matters. Their meeting had seemed accidental; she could not believe he
had contrived it. If the dance bored him she was by no means his only
refuge; many present would have thought themselves highly favored by a
word from him. A messenger brought Sylvia a question from Mrs. Owen. In
turning away to answer she gave him a chance to escape, but he waited,
and when she was free again she felt that he had been watching her.
He smiled, and stood erect as though impelled by an agreeable thought.
"We don't meet very often, Miss Garrison, and this is hardly the place
for long conversations; you're busy, too; but I'd like to ask you
something."
"Certainly, Mr. Bassett!"
The newest two-step struck up and she swung her head for a moment in
time to it and looked out upon the swaying forms of the dancers.
"That's Marian's favorite," she said.
"That afternoon, after the convention, you remember--"
"Of course, Mr. Bassett; I remember perfectly."
"You laughed!"
They both smiled; and it seemed to him that now, as then, it was a smile
of understanding, a curious reciprocal exchange that sufficed without
elucidation in words.
"Well!" said Sylvia.
"Would you mind telling me just why you laughed?"
"Oh! That would be telling a lot of things."
Any one seeing them might have thought that this middle-aged gentleman
was taking advantage of an opportunity to bask in the smile of a pretty
girl for the sheer pleasure of her company. He was purposely detaining
her, but whether from a wish to amuse himself or to mark his
indifference to what went on around him she did not fathom. The fact was
that Sylvia had wondered herself a good deal about that interview in
Mrs. Owen's house, and she was not quite sure why she had laughed.
"I'd really like to know, Miss Garrison. If I knew why you laughed at
me--"
"Oh, I didn't laugh at you! At least--it wasn't just you alone I was
laughing at!"
"Not at me?"
His look of indifference vanished wholly; he seemed sincerely interested
as he waited for her reply, delayed a moment by the passing of a group
of youngsters from the ballroom to the fresher air of the hall.
"I know perfectly well this isn't a good place to be serious in; but I
laughed--Do you really want to know?"
"Yes, please. Don't try to spare my feelings; they're pretty badly shot
up anyhow."
"It must have been because it struck me as funny that a man like
you--with all your influence and power--your capacity for doing big
things--should go to so much trouble merely to show another man your
contempt for him. Just a moment"--she deliberated an instant, lifting
her head a trifle,--"it was funny, just as it would be funny if the
United States went to war to crush a petty, ignorant pauper power; or it
would be like using the biggest pile driver to smash a mosquito. It was
ridiculous just because it seemed so unnecessarily elaborate--such a
waste of steam."
She had spoken earnestly and quickly, but he laughed to assure her that
he was not offended.
"So that was it, was it?"
"I think so; something like that. And you laughed too that day!"
"Yes; why did I laugh?" he demanded.
"Because you knew it was grotesque, and not to be taken at all seriously
as people did take it. And then, maybe--maybe I thought it funny that
you should have employed Mr. Harwood to pull the lever that sent the big
hammer smashing down on the insect."
"So that was it! Well, maybe it wasn't so unnecessary after all; to be
frank, I didn't think so. In my conceit I thought it a good stroke.
That's a secret; nobody else knows that! Why shouldn't I have used Mr.
Harwood--assuming that I did use him?"
"Can you stand any more? Shan't we talk of something else?"
Their colloquy had been longer than Sylvia found comfortable: every one
knew Bassett; every one did not know her. She was a comparative stranger
in the city, and it was not wholly kind in him to make her conspicuous;
yet he seemed oblivious to his surroundings.
"You cast an excellent actor for an unworthy part, that's all."
"I was debasing him? Is that what you think?" he persisted.
"Yes," she answered steadily, meeting his eyes.
"You like him; you believe in him?"
"He has ability," she answered guardedly.
"Then I've done nothing to thwart him in the use of it. He's the best
advertised young man in the state in either political party. He's in a
place now where he can make good."
His smile was grave; it was impossible to answer him in the key of
social small talk.
"The 'Advertiser' seems to think that he's in the legislature to do what
you tell him to."
"He doesn't have to do it, does he? He owes me nothing--absolutely
nothing. He can kick me down stairs to-morrow if he wants to. It was
understood when he came into my office that he should be free to quit me
whenever he liked. I'd like you to know that."
She was embarrassed by the direct look that accompanied this. Her
opinions could not interest him one way or another, and he was going far
in assuming that she was deeply concerned in Harwood's welfare. The
incongruity of their talk was emphasized by the languorous strains of
the newest popular waltz that floated over them from the ballroom.
"If it were any of my affair--which it certainly isn't--I should tell
him to stand by you--to say no to you if need be and yet remain your
friend."
"You think, then, that I am not beyond reclamation--that I might be
saved--pulled out of the mire?"
"No man is beyond reclamation, is he? I think not; I believe not."
The music ceased; the dancers were demanding a repetition of the number.
Bassett stood his ground stubbornly.
"Well, I've asked him to do something for me--the only thing I have ever
asked him to do that wasn't straight."
There was no evading this; she wondered whether he had deliberately
planned this talk, and what it was leading to. In any view it was
inexplicable. His brow knit and there was a curious gravity in his eyes
as they sought hers searchingly.
"That's his affair entirely, Mr. Bassett," she replied coldly. "He and I
are good friends, and of course I should hate to see him make a
mistake."
"But the mistake may be mine; let us say that it is mine."
"I had an idea that you didn't make mistakes. Why should you make the
serious mistake of asking a good man to do a bad thing?"
"The natural inference would be that I'm a bad man, wouldn't it?"
"It wouldn't be my way of looking at it. All you need is courage to be a
great man--you can go far!"
He smiled grimly.
"I need only one thing, you say;--but what if it's the thing I haven't
got?"
"Get it!" she replied lightly. "But your defiance in the convention
wasn't worthy of you; it was only a piece of bravado. You don't deserve
to be abused for that,--just scolded a little. That's why I laughed at
you that afternoon; I'm going to laugh at you now!"
The music had ceased again and Allen and Marian flashed out upon them in
the highest spirits.
"Well, I like this!" cried Marian. "What are you two talking so long
about? Oh, I saw you through three dances at least!"
"Miss Garrison has been laughing at me," said Bassett, smiling at his
daughter. "She doesn't take me at all seriously--or too seriously: I
don't know which!"
"How could she take you seriously!" demanded Marian. "I never do!
Sylvia, where on earth is our little Daniel? It's nearly time for the
cotillion. And if Dan Harwood doesn't show up for that I'll never
forgive him in this world."
"The cotillion?" repeated Bassett, glancing at his watch. "Hasn't Dan
got here yet? He had a committee meeting to-night, but it ought to have
been over before now."
Sylvia noted that the serious look came into his eyes again for an
instant.
"He oughtn't to have had a committe meeting on the night of my party.
And it's a holiday too."
"And after all the rehearsing we've done at Aunt Sally's the cherry-tree
figure absolutely has to have him," said Allen. "Maybe I'd better send a
scout to look him up or run over to the State House myself."
"Oh, he'll be here," murmured Sylvia.
Dan had undoubtedly intended to appear early at the dance, and she
wondered whether his delay might not be due to the crisis in his
relations with Bassett of which the politician had hinted. As she ran
off with Allen to make sure the apparatus for the german was in order,
she wished Bassett had not spoken to her of Harwood.
Sylvia and Allen had despaired of Dan when at a quarter of twelve he
appeared. He met their reproaches cheerfully, and airily explained his
delay.
"State's business! Can you imagine me fresh from Richelieu's cabinet,
with a trail of dead horses on the road behind me? In plain prose I
didn't get home to dress until eleven, and the snow makes it hard
going."
He had dressed with care nevertheless and had never looked better.
Sylvia sent Allen ahead to begin clearing the floor for the cotillion,
and followed more slowly with Harwood.
"I suppose," he remarked, half to himself, "that I really oughtn't to do
it."
"What--you hesitate now after keeping the stage waiting!"
"It may be a case for an understudy. There are reasons why."
"Then--you have done it?"
They were at the turn of the stair and Sylvia paused. He was conscious
of a quick catch in her breath. Her eyes met his for an instant
searchingly.
"Yes; I have done it," he answered, and looked at her wonderingly.
A moment later he had made his peace with Mrs. Owen and paid his
compliments to Mrs. Bassett at the favor table, heaped high with
beribboned hatchets and bunches of cherries for the first figure.
Morton Bassett had heard praise of his daughter from many lips, but he
watched her joyous course through the cherry-tree figure in the german
with an attention that was not wholly attributable to fatherly pride.
Harwood's white-gloved hand led her hither and thither through the
intricate maze; one must have been sadly lacking in the pictorial sense
not to have experienced a thrill of delight in a scene so animate with
grace, so touched with color. It was ungracious to question the
sincerity of those who pronounced Marian the belle of the ball when
Colonel Ramsay, the supreme authority in Hoosier pulchritude, declared
her to be the fairest rose in a rose-garden of girls. He said the same
thing to the adoring parents of a dozen other girls that night. (The
Colonel was born in Tecumseh County, on our side of the Ohio, and just
plays at being a Kentuckian!) Mothers of daughters, watching the dance
with a jealous eye on their own offspring, whispered among themselves
that as likely as not Marian's tall, broad-shouldered cavalier was the
man chosen of all time to be her husband. He was her father's
confidential man, and nothing could stay his upward course.
Bassett saw it all and guessed what they were thinking. Sylvia flashed
across his vision now and then. He overheard people asking who she was,
and he caught the answers, that she was a girl Mrs. Owen had taken up; a
public school-teacher, they believed, the daughter of an old friend.
Sylvia, quite unconscious of this interest, saw that the figures she had
done so much toward planning were enacted without a hitch. The last one,
the Pergola, with real roses, if you must know, well deserved Colonel
Ramsay's compliment. "You can't tell," said the Colonel in his best
manner, "where the roses end and the girls begin!"
It was two o'clock when Harwood, after taking Mrs. Owen down to supper,
found himself free. He met Thatcher in the lower hall, muffled in
astrakhan and swearing softly to himself because his carriage had been
lost in the blizzard.
"Well; how are things going with you, young man?"
"Right enough. I'm tired and it's about bed-time for me."
"Haven't got House Bill Ninety-five in your pockets have you?" asked
Thatcher with a grin. "A reporter for the 'Advertiser' was in here
looking for you a minute ago. He said your committee had taken a vote
to-night and he wanted to know about it. Told him you'd gone home. Hope
you appreciate that; I'm used to lying to reporters. You see, my son, I
ain't in that deal. You understand? That bill was fixed up in Chicago,
and every corporation lawyer that does business in the old Hoosier State
has his eye on it. I'm not asking any questions; Lord, no! It's up to
you. Grand party; that's a nice girl of Bassett's. My wagon here? All
right. Good-night, Dan! Good-night, Bassett!"
Harwood turned and found himself face to face with Bassett, who was
loitering aimlessly about the hall.
"Good-evening, sir," he said, and they shook hands mechanically.
"How are you? Party about over?"
"I should like to speak to you to-night, Mr. Bassett. It need take but a
minute."
"Better now, if it's important," replied Bassett carelessly.
"We voted on House Bill Ninety-five in committee to-night: the majority
report will be against it."
"So? What was the matter with it?"
"It's crooked, that's all. I wouldn't stand for it; two members were
willing to support it, and there will be a minority report. It's that
same bill that was jumped on so hard at the last session, only it's been
given a fresh coat of paint."
"It seems to have taken you several weeks to find that out. There's
nothing wrong with that bill. It merely frames a natural and reasonable
right into a statute. Those labor cranks at the State House have been
trying to scare you."
"No, sir; that thing's dead wrong! You not only know it's wrong, but you
misled me about it. That public benefit clause is put in there to throw
dust in the eyes of the people; it makes possible the very combination
and absorption of industries that the party is pledged to fight. I have
bawled against those things in every county in Indiana!"
Bassett nodded, but showed no irritation. His manner irritated Harwood.
The younger man's lips twitched slightly as he continued.
"And the fact that you were behind it has leaked out; the 'Advertiser'
is on to it and is going to go after it to-morrow. House Bill
Ninety-five is an outrage on the party honor and an affront to the
intelligence of the people. And moreover your interest in having me made
chairman of the committee that had to pass on it doesn't look good."
"Well, sir, what are you going to do about it? I'm not particularly
interested in that bill; but a lot of our friends are behind it, and
we've got to take care of our friends," said Bassett, without raising
his voice.
Their relations were practically at an end; and Bassett did not care.
But Dan felt the wrench; he felt it the more keenly because of Bassett's
impassiveness at this moment of parting.
"You've been a kind friend to me, sir; you've--"
Bassett laid his hand with an abrupt gesture upon Harwood's arm, and
smiled a curious, mirthless smile.
"None of that! I told you, when the time came for you to go, you need
shed no tears at the parting. Remember, you don't owe me anything; we're
quits."
"I hoped you wouldn't see it just this way; that you would realize the
danger of that bill--to the party, to yourself!"
"You can score heavily by showing up the bill for what you think it is.
Go ahead; it's your chance. I haven't a word to say to you."
He folded his white gloves and put them away carefully in his breast
pocket.
"Good-night, sir!"
"Good-night, Harwood!"
The dancing continued above. Mrs. Owen insisted on seeing her last guest
depart, but begged Harwood to take Sylvia home at once. As they left a
few minutes later Dan caught a glimpse of Bassett sitting alone in the
smoking-room.
On the way to Elizabeth House Dan told Sylvia what had happened.
The carriage plunged roughly through the drifting snow. Sleet drove
sharply against the windows.
"He lied to me about it; and I thought that with all his faults he would
play square with me. The whole corporation lobby is back of the bill. I
was stupid not to have seen it earlier; I've been a dull ass about a lot
of things. But it's over now; I'm done with him."
"I'm glad--glad you met it squarely--and glad that you settled it
quickly. I'm glad"--she repeated slowly--"but I'm sorry too."
"Sorry?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry for him!"