THE surprise had leaped to Vernon's eyes again at the final impression
of perfection made by her voice, and the surprise changed to a regret of
lost and irreclaimable opportunity when he reflected that he had lived
for years near this woman lawyer and yet never had seen her once in all
that time. When Miss Greene turned to look him in the face again, after
the others were gone, Vernon grew suddenly bashful, like a big boy. He
felt his face flame hotly. He had been meditating some drawing-room
speech; he had already turned in his mind a pretty sentence in which
there was a discreet reference to Portia; Vernon was just at the age for
classical allusions. But when he saw her blue eyes fixed on him and read
the utter seriousness in them he knew that compliments would all be
lost.
"I am one of your constituents, Senator Vernon," she began, "and I am
down, frankly, lobbying for this resolution."
"And we both," he replied, "are, I believe, members of the Cook County
bar. Strange, isn't it, that two Chicago lawyers should have to wait
until they are in Springfield to meet?"
"Not altogether," she said. "It is not so very strange--my practice is
almost wholly confined to office work; I am more of a counselor than a
barrister. I have not often appeared in court; in fact I prefer not to
do so; I am--well, just a little timid in that part of the work."
The femininity of it touched him. He might have told her that he did not
often appear in court himself, but he was new enough at the bar to have
to practise the dissimulation of the young professional man. He indulged
himself in the temptation to allow her to go undeceived, though with a
pang he remembered that her practice, from all that he had heard, must
be much more lucrative than his. Something of the pretty embarrassment
she felt before courts and juries was evidently on her in this her first
appearance in the Senate, but she put it away; her breast rose with the
deep breath of resolution she drew, and she straightened to look him
once more in the eyes.
"But about this resolution, Senator Vernon; I must not take up too much
of your time. If you will give me your objections to it perhaps I may be
able to explain them away. We should very much like to have your
support."
Vernon scarcely knew what to reply; such objections as he might have
found at other times--the old masculine objections to women's voting and
meddling in politics--had all disappeared at sight of this remarkable
young woman who wished to vote herself; he could not think of one of
them, try as he would. His eyes were on the rose.
"Perhaps your objections are merely prejudices," she ventured boldly, in
her eyes a latent twinkle that disturbed him.
"I confess, Miss Greene," he began, trying to get back something of his
senatorial dignity, such as state senatorial dignity is, "that I have
not devoted much thought to the subject; I am indeed rather ashamed to
acknowledge that I did not even know the amendment was coming up to-day,
until I was--ah--so delightfully reminded by your rose."
He raised the rose to inhale its fragrance. She made no reply, but she
kept her eyes on him, and her gaze compelled him to go on. It was hard
for him to go on, for it was now but a struggle against the formality of
a surrender that had been inevitable from the beginning. But his man's
pride forced him to delay it as long as possible.
"What assurances have you from other senators?" he asked. "Though,
perhaps, I need not ask--they have unanimously mounted your colors." He
looked at his colleagues, sporting their roses. Miss Greene gave a
little exclamation of annoyance.
"Do you think I don't know," she said; "that I don't understand all
that? I might have known that they would not take it seriously! And I
thought--I thought--to put the matter so easily to them that I should be
spared the necessity of buttonholing them!"
"It was a novel way of buttonholing them," he laughed.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, catching her breath, "they wear the roses--and
laugh at me!"
Her eyes flashed through the mists of vexation that suggested tears.
"You are all alone then?"
Vernon said this in a low, solicitous tone, as if he were dealing with
some deep grief.
"All alone."
"And you represent no one--that is, no society, no club?"
"I am not a paid lobbyist," she said, "though I believe it is not beyond
the proprieties of our profession. I do what I do only from a love of
principle. I represent only my sex." She said it impressively, and then
with a quick little laugh that recognized the theatrical that had been
in her attitude, she added: "And that, I suspect, without
authorization."
"The ladies, generally, do not seem to be interested," Vernon
acquiesced.
"No," she shook her head sadly, "no, on the contrary, I suppose most of
them oppose the measure."
"I have generally found them of that feeling," Vernon observed.
"The slaves, before the war, often petitioned congress not to set them
free, you will remember."
Miss Greene spoke with a bitterness. Then quickly she collected herself.
"But your objections, Senator Vernon?" she said. "Really, we must get
down to business."
She raised the little chatelaine watch that hung at her bosom and looked
down at it. And then suddenly, without waiting for his objections, as if
she had quite forgotten them indeed, she impulsively stretched forth a
hand and said:
"You will help me, won't you?"
Vernon looked into her eyes. His gaze, after an instant, fell. He tried
to run the stem of the rose through his buttonhole. The thorns caught in
the cloth.
"You'll have to do it," he said, helplessly.
From some mysterious fold of her habit she took a pin, and then, leaning
over, she pinned the rose to his coat, pinned it with its long stem
hanging, as a woman would pin a flower to a man's lapel.
"Thank you." He was looking into her eyes again.
"Rather let me thank _you_," she said. "It's so good of you to vote for
my measure."
His eyes widened suddenly. He had quite forgotten the resolution. She
must have perceived this, for she blushed, and he hastened to make
amends.
"I'll not only vote for it," he rushed ahead impulsively, "but I'll make
a speech for it." He straightened and leaned away from her to give a
proper perspective in which she could admire him. He sat there smiling.
"How splendid of you!" she cried. "I feel encouraged now."
Then Vernon's face lengthened. He stammered: "But you'll have to give me
some data; I--I don't know a thing about the subject."
"Oh," she laughed, "I brought some literature. It shall all be at your
disposal. And now, I must be about my work. Can you make any
suggestions? Can you tell me whom I should see, whom I should interest,
who has the--ah--pull, I believe you call it?"
"I'll bring them to you," Vernon said. "You sit here and hold court."
He rose and his eyes swept the chamber. They lighted on Burns, and an
idea suddenly came to him. He would revenge himself on Burns for all the
slights of the session.
"Of course you'll have to see Sam Porter, but I'll begin by bringing
Senator Burns--familiarly known as Bull Burns."
"I've read of him so often in the newspapers," she said. "It would be an
experience."
Vernon went over to Burns's seat and touched him on the shoulder.
"Come on," he said in a tone of command, speaking for once from the
altitude of his social superiority. And for once he was successful. The
burly fellow from the First District stood up and looked inquiringly.
"Come with me," Vernon said; "there's a Chicago lawyer back here who
wants to see you."
Burns followed and an instant later Vernon halted before Miss Greene.
The other men, who had quickly returned to her side, made way, and
Vernon said:
"Miss Greene, may I present Senator Burns, of the First District?"
Miss Greene smiled on the big saloon-keeper, who instantly flamed with
embarrassment. She gave him her hand, and he took it in his fat palm,
carefully, lest he crush it.
"I am delighted to meet Senator Burns; I've heard of you so often," she
said, looking up at him. "And do you know I count it a privilege to meet
one of your acknowledged influence in our state's affairs?"
Vernon stood back, delighted beyond measure with the confusion into
which Burns for once had been betrayed. The senator from the First
District was struggling for some word to say, and at last he broke out
with:
"Aw now, lady, don't be t'rowin' de con into me."
The men in the little group on that side of the Senate chamber burst out
in a laugh, but Burns becoming suddenly grave, and dangerous and
terrible in his gravity, they broke off in the very midst of their
mirth. The group became silent.
"Really, Senator Burns," said Miss Greene, "this is no--ah--confidence
game, I assure you." She rose with a graceful sweep of her skirts. Then
she went on: "If you will permit me, I should like to explain my mission
to you. I am down here to ask the Senate to adopt a resolution that will
submit an amendment to the Constitution permitting the women of Illinois
to vote at all elections, as they vote at school elections now. If you
can give it, I should like your support; I should, at least, like to
tell you my reasons."