VI

As soon as Betty awoke the next morning, she turned her mind to the

events of the night before. Unlike most occasions eagerly anticipated,

it had contained no disappointment; she had, indeed, been pleasurably

surprised, for despite her strong common-sense the dark picture of

corruption and objectionable toilet accessories had made its impression

upon her. She foresaw much amusement in witnessing the unwilling

surrender of her mother to even Senator Shattuc, him of the political

beard. As for Senator Burleigh, she would yield to his magnetism and

power of compelling interest in himself, while pronouncing his manners

too abrupt and his personality too "Western." And if he admired

intelligently the old lace which she always wore at her throat and

wrists and on her pretty head, she would confess that there might be

exceptions even to political rules.

But somewhat to Betty's surprise it was not of Senator Burleigh that

she thought most, although she had talked with him for two hours and

pronounced him charming. She had talked with Senator North for exactly

six minutes, but she saw his face more distinctly than Burleigh's and

retained his voice in her ear. He had not paid her a compliment, but

his manner had expressed that she interested him and that he thought

her worth meeting. For the first time in her life Betty felt flattered

by the admiration of a man; and she had held her own with more than one

of distinction on the other side. Even royalty had not fluttered her,

but she conceived an eager desire to make this man think well of her.

It irritated her to remember that she could have made no mental

impression on him whatever. She became uncheerful, and reflected that

the subtle flattery in his manner was probably a mere habit; Lady Mary

had intimated that he liked women and had loved several. Well, she

cared nothing about that; he was thirty years older than herself and

married; but she admired him and wished for his good opinion and to

hear him talk. Doubtless they soon would meet again, and if they were

left in conversation for a decent length of time she would ask him to

call. She cast about in her mind for a subterfuge which would justify a

note, but she could think of none, and was too worldly-wise to evoke a

smile from the depths of a man's conceit.

Her mother refused to bid her good-by when, accompanied by her maid,

she started for the Capitol at twenty minutes to three. A few moments

later she found herself admiring for the first time the big stately

building on the hill at the end of Pennsylvania Avenue. She always had

thought Washington a beautiful city, with its wide quiet avenues set

thick with trees, its graceful parks, each with a statue of some man

gratefully remembered by the Republic, but she had given little heed to

its public buildings and their significance. As she approached the

great white Capitol, she experienced a sudden thrill of that historical

sense which, after its awakening, dominates so actively the large

intelligence. The Capitol symbolized the greatness of the young nation;

all the famous American statesmen after the first group had moved and

made their reputations within its walls. All laws affecting the nation

came out of it, and the Judges of the Supreme Court sat there. And of

its kind there was none other in the civilized world, had been but one

other since the world began.

The historic building shed an added lustre upon Senator Burleigh; but

it was of Senator North that she thought most as she half rose in the

Victoria and scanned the long sweep. The cleverest of women cannot

class with anything like precision the man who has stamped himself into

her imagination. Betty knew that there were six men in the Senate who

ranked as equals; their quiet epoch gave them little chance to discover

latent genius other than for constructive legislation; nevertheless she

arbitrarily conceived the Capitol to-day as the great setting for one

man only; and the building and the man became one in her imagination

henceforth. The truth was that Betty, being greatly endowed for loving

and finding that all men fell short of her high standard, was forced to

seek companionship in an ideal. She had had several loves in history,

but had come to the conclusion some years since that dead men were

unsatisfactory. Since then she had fancied mightily one or two public

men on the other side, whom she had never met; but in time they had

bored or disappointed her. But here was a conspicuous figure in her own

country, appealing to her through the powerful medium of patriotic

pride; a man so much alive that he might at any moment hold the

destinies of the United States in his hands, and who, owing to his

years and impenetrable dignity, was not to be considered from the

ordinary view-point of woman. She would coquet with Senator Burleigh;

it was on the cards that she would love him, for he was brilliant,

ambitious, and honourable; but Senator North was exalted to the vacant

pedestal reserved for ideals, and Betty settled herself comfortably to

his worship; not guessing that he would be under her memory's dust-heap

in ten days if Senator Burleigh captured her heart.

The coachman was directed by a policeman to the covered portico of the

Senate wing. Betty had a bare glimpse of corridors apparently

interminable, before another policeman put her into the elevator and

told her to get off when the boy said "Gallery."

Senator Burleigh was waiting for her, and she thought him even manlier

and more imposing in his gray tweed than in evening dress. He shook her

hand heartily, and assured her in his abrupt dictatorial way that it

gave him the greatest pleasure to meet her again.

"I'm sorry I haven't time to take you all over the building," he said,

"but I have two Committee meetings this afternoon. You must come down

some morning."

His manner was very businesslike, and he seemed a trifle absent as he

paused a moment and called her attention to the daub illustrating the

Electoral Commission; but this, Betty assumed, was the senatorial

manner by day. In a moment he led her to one of the doors in the wall

that encloses the Senate Gallery.

"You see this lady," he said peremptorily to the doorkeeper, who rose

hastily from his chair. "She is always to be admitted to this gallery.

Take a good look at her."

"Yes, sir; member of your family, I presume?"

"You can assume that she is my sister. Only see that you admit her."

"The rules are very strict in regard to this gallery," he added, as he

closed the door behind them. "It is only for the families of the

Senators, but you will like it better than the reserved gallery. Send

for me if there should be trouble at any time about admittance."

"I usually get where I wish! I sha'n't trouble you."

"Don't you ever think twice about troubling me," he said. "Let us go

down to the front row."

The galleries surrounding the great Chamber were almost dark under the

flat roof, but the space below was full of light. It looked very

sumptuous with its ninety desks and easy-chairs, and a big fire beyond

an open door; and very legislative with its president elevated above

the Senators and the row of clerks beneath him. There were perhaps

thirty Senators in the room, and they were talking in groups or

couples, reading newspapers, or writing letters. One Senator was making

a speech.

"I don't think they are very polite," said Betty. "Why don't they

listen? He seems to be in earnest and speaks very nicely." "Oh, he is

talking to his constituents, not to the Senate--although he would be

quite pleased if it would listen to him. He does not amount to much. We

listen to each other when it is worth while; but this is a Club, Miss

Madison, the most delightful Club in the United States. Just beyond are

the cloakrooms, where we can lounge before the fire and smoke, or lie

down and go to sleep. The hard work is in the Committee rooms, and it

is hard enough to justify all the pleasure we can get out of the other

side of the life. Now, I'll tell you who these are and something about

them."

He pointed out one after the other in his quick businesslike way,

rattling off biographical details; but Betty, feeling that she was

getting but a mass of impressions with many heads, interrupted him.

"I don't see Senator North," she said. "I thought he was going to

speak."

"He will, later. He is in his Committee room now, but he'll go down as

soon as a page takes him word that the clerk is about to read the bill

whose Committee amendments he is sure to object to. Now I must go. I

shall give myself the pleasure of calling a week from Sunday. You must

come often, and always come here. And let me give you two pieces of

advice: never bow to any Senator from up here, and never go to the

Marble Room and send in a card. Then you can come every day without

attracting attention. Good-bye."

Betty thanked him, and he departed. For the next hour she found the

proceedings very dull. The unregarded Senator finished his speech and

retired behind a newspaper. Other members clapped their hands, and the

pages scampered down the gangways and carried back documents to the

clerk below the Vice-President's chair, while their senders made a few

remarks meaningless to Betty. Two or three delivered brief speeches

which were equally unintelligible to one not acquainted with current

legislation. During one of them a man of imposing appearance entered

and was apparently congratulated by almost every one in the room, the

Senators leaving their seats and coming to the middle aisle, where he

stood, to shake him by the hand. Betty felt sorry for Leontine, who was

on the verge of tears, but determined to remain until Senator North

appeared if she did not leave until it should be time to dress for

dinner.

He entered finally and went straight to his desk. He looked

preoccupied, and began writing at once. In a few moments the clerk

commenced to read from a document, and Senator North laid aside his pen

and listened attentively. So did several other Senators. It was a very

long document, and Betty, who could not understand one word in ten as

delivered by the clerk's rumbling monotonous voice, was desperately

bored, and was glad her Senators had the solace of the cloak-rooms.

Several did in fact retire to them, but when the clerk sat down and

Senator North rose, they returned; and Betty felt a personal pride in

the fact that they were about to listen to the Senator whom herself had

elected to honour.

She had to lean forward and strain her ears to hear him. It was evident

that he did not recognize the existence of the gallery, for he did not

raise his voice from beginning to end; and yet it was of that strong

rich quality that might have carried far. But it neither "rang out like

a clarion," nor "thundered imprecation." Neither did he utter an

impassioned phrase nor waste a word, but he denounced the bill as a

party measure, exposed its weak points, riddled it with sarcasm, and

piled up damaging evidence of partisan zeal. "This is an honourable

body," he concluded, "and few measures go out of it that are open to

serious criticism by the self-constituted guardians of legislative

virtue, but if this bill goes through the Senate we shall invite from

the thinking people of the country the same sort of criticism which we

now receive from the ignorant. If the high standard of this body is to

be maintained, it must be by sound and conservative legislation, not by

grovelling to future legislatures."

Having administered this final slap, he sat down and began writing

again, apparently paying no attention to the Chairman of the bill, who

defended his measure with eloquence and vigour. It was a good speech,

but it contained more words than the one that had provoked it and fewer

points. Senator North replied briefly that the only chance for the bill

was for its father to refrain from calling attention to its weak

points, then went into the Republican cloak-room, presumably to smoke a

cigar. Betty, whose head ached, went home.