IX

"If you have this war," said Lady Mary Montgomery to Betty, who had

come to receive with her on one of her Tuesdays, "it will be strictly

constitutional if you look at it in the right way. This is a government

of the people, by the people, and for the people, and as the people are

practically a unit in their howl for war, they have a right to it, and

the responsibility is on their shoulders, not on your few statesmen."

"That is a real gem of feminine logic, but not only is one wise man of

more account than ten thousand fools, but a unit is a unit and has no

comparative state. The serious men from one end of the country to the

other are doing all they can to quell the excitement; so are the few

decent newspapers that we possess. But they are dealing with a mob; an

excited mob is always mad, and in this case the keepers are not

numerous enough for the lunatics. But no one will question that the

intelligent keepers are right and the mob wrong. The average

intelligence is always shallow, and in electric climates very

excitable. We are dealing to-day no less with a huge mob, even if it is

not massed and marching, than were the few sane men of the French

Revolution. An exciting idea is like a venomous microbe; it bites into

the brain, and if circumstances do not occur to expel it, it produces a

form of mania. That is the only way I can account for Burleigh's

attitude; he is one of the few exceptions. There are thousands of men

in the United States whose brains could stand any strain, but there are

hundreds of thousands who were born to swell a mob. As for 'government

by the people,' that phrase should be translated to-day into 'tyranny

of the people.' England under a constitutional monarchy is far freer

than we are."

"Well, I am suppressed and will say no more. I suppose I shall have a

mob to-day. If anything, people are paying more calls than ever, for

they can't stay indoors for twenty-five minutes with no one to talk to.

It is getting monotonous. I wish that the President and the Senate

would begin to play, but they look as impassive as the statues in the

parks."

The rooms filled quickly. By five o'clock the usual crowd was there,

and if it had its dowdy battalion as ever, there was no evidence that

the more fortunate had lost their interest in dress, despite the

warlike state of their nerves. Not that all were for war, by any means.

Many were clinging to a forlorn hope, but they could talk of nothing

else.

Betty had just listened to the twenty-eighth theory of the cause of the

Maine's destruction when she turned in response to a familiar drawl.

"Why, howdy, Miss Madison, I'm real glad to run across you at last."

Betty was so taken aback that she mechanically surrendered her hand to

the limp pressure of her former housekeeper. But she was not long

recovering herself.

"Miss Trumbull, is it not? I was not aware that you were an

acquaintance of Lady Mary Montgomery's."

"Well, I can't say as I know her real intimate yet, but I guess I shall

in time, as we're both wives of Congressmen."

"Ah? You are married?" Betty experienced a fleeting desire to see the

man who had been captivated by Miss Trumbull.

"Ye--as. I went out West to visit my sister after I left you and was

married before I knew it--to Mr. George Washington Mudd. He's real

nice, and smart--My! I expect to be in the White House before I die."

"It is among the possibilities, of course. I hope you are happy, and

that meanwhile he is able to take care of you comfortably." Mrs. Mudd

glistened with black silk and jet, but the cut of her gown was of the

Middle West.

"Well, I guess! He's a lawyer and can make two hundred dollars a month

any day. Of course I can't set up a house in Washington, but I live at

the Ellsmere, and three or four of us Congressional ladies receive

together and share carriages. I'll be happy to have you call--the first

and third Tuesdays; but we always put it in the Post."

"I have little time for calling. I am very busy in many ways."

"Well, I'm sorry. You don't look as well as you did up in the

mountains; you look real tired, come to examine you. But your dresses

are always so swell one sees those first. I always did think you had

just the prettiest dresses I ever saw."

Betty did not turn her back upon the woman; it was a relief to talk on

any subject that stood aloof from war. Mrs. Mudd rambled on.

"I suppose you're engaged to Senator Burleigh by this time? He's our

Senator, you know, but I don't know as he's likely to be, long. We want

silver, and I guess we've got to have it."

"I suppose you take quite an interest in politics now," said Betty,

looking at the woman's large self-satisfied face. So far, matrimony had

not been a chastening influence. Mrs. Mudd looked more conceited than

ever.

"Well, I guess I always knew as much about them as anybody; and now I'm

in politics, I guess the President couldn't give me many points. If he

don't declare war soon, I'll go up to the White House and tell him what

I think of him."

"Suppose you make a speech from the House Gallery. It is Congress that

declares war, not the President."

Mrs. Mudd's face turned the dull red which Betty well remembered. "I

guess I know what I'm talking' about. It's the President--"

But Betty's back was upon her, and Betty was listening to the agitated

comments of one of the year's debutantes upon the destruction of the

Maine.

"Was night ever so welcome before?" thought Betty, as she settled

herself between the four posts of her great-aunt's bed, a few hours

later. "Here, at least, not an echo of war can penetrate, and if I

think of other things that scald my pillow, it is almost a relief."

X

On the following evening she went with the Montgomerys to the Army and

Navy reception at the White House. Lady Mary had but to express a wish

for a card to any function in Washington; and her popularity had much

to do with her love for her adopted country.

It was the first time Betty ever had entered the historic mansion, and

as she waited for twenty minutes in the crush of people on the front

porch, she reflected that probably it was the last.

But when she was in the great East Room, which was hung with flags and

glittered with uniforms, and was filled with the strains of martial

music, she thrilled again with the historical sense, and almost wished

there was a prospect of a war which would compel her to patriotic

excitement.

They remained in the East Room for some time before going to shake

hands with the President, that the long queue of people patiently

crawling to the Blue Room might have time to wear itself down to a

point. As Betty stood there eagerly watching the scene, and talking to

first one and then another of the Army men who came up to speak to her,

she became deeply impressed with the fact that this was the calmest

function she had attended in Washington during the winter. There was no

excitement on the faces of these men in uniform, and they said little

and hardly mentioned the subject of war. They looked stern and

thoughtful; and Betty felt proud of them, and wished they were doing

themselves honour in a better cause.

She went down the long central corridor after a time, past the crowd

wedged before the central door, gaping at the receiving party, to a

room where she and the Montgomerys joined the diminished queue

extending from a side entrance to the Blue Room. She was not surprised

to see Mrs. Mudd in front of her, for although the Representative's

wife should have received a card for another evening, she was quite

capable of forcing her way in without one; as doubtless a good many

others had done to-night. She wore her black silk gown and her bonnet,

and although most of the women present were in brilliant evening dress,

Mrs. Mudd had several to keep her in countenance. She glanced wearily

over her shoulder during the slow progress of the queue, and caught

sight of Betty. Her place was precious, but she left it at once and

came down the line.

"I'll go in along with you," she said. "George couldn't come and I've

felt kinder lonesome ever sense I got here. And we've been three

quarters of an hour getting this far. It's terrible tiresome, but as

I've found you I guess I can stand the rest of it."

Betty detected the flicker of malice in her former housekeeper's voice.

They were on equal ground for once, and Miss Madison and Mrs. Mudd

would shake hands with their President within consecutive moments. She

smiled with some cynicism, but was too good-natured to snub the native

ambition where it could do no harm.

"I saw Senator North to-day," observed Mrs. Mudd, "and he looked

crosser 'n two sticks. He's mad because they'll have war in spite of

him. I call him right down unpatriotic, and so do lots of others."

"That disturbs him a great deal. He is much more concerned about the

country making a fool of itself."

"This country's all right, and we couldn't go wrong if we tried. Them

that sets themselves up to be so terrible superior are just bad

Americans, that's the long and the short of it, and they'll find it out

at the next elections. If Senator North should take a trip out West

just now, they'd tar and feather him, and I'd like to be there to see

it done. They can't say what they think of his setting on patriotic

Senators loud enough. And as for the President--"

"Well, don't criticise the President while you are under his roof. It

is bad manners. Here we are. Will you go in first?"

"Well, I don't see why I shouldn't. I'll hurry on so they can see your

dress; it's just too lovely for anything."

Betty wore a white embroidered chiffon over green; she shook out the

train, which had been over her arm ever since she entered the house.

Her name was announced in a loud tone, and she entered the pretty

flowery Blue Room with its charmingly dressed receiving party standing

before a large group of favoured and critical friends, and facing the

inquisitive eyes in the central doorway. The President grasped her hand

and said, "How do you do, Miss Madison?" in so pleased and so cordial a

tone that Betty for a fleeting moment wondered where she could have met

him before. Then she smiled, made a comprehensive bow to his wife and

the women of the Cabinet, and passed on. Mrs. Mudd, who had shaken

hands relentlessly with every weary member of the receiving party,

reached the door of exit after her and clutched her by the arm.

"Say!" she exclaimed with excitement, although her drawl was but half

conquered. "Where _do_ you s'pose I could have met the President

before? I know by the way he said 'Mrs. Mudd,' he remembered me, but I

just can't think, to save my life. My! ain't he fascinating?"

Betty had laughed aloud. "I am sorry to hurt your vanity," she replied,

"but the President is said to have the best manners of any man who has

occupied the White House within living memory."

"What d'you mean?" cried Mrs. Mudd, sharply. "D' you mean he didn't

know me? I just know he did, so there! And he can pack his clothes in

my trunk as soon as he likes."

"Good heaven!" "Oh, that's slang. I forgot you were so terrible

superior. But you've got good cause to know I'm virtuous. Lands sakes!

I guess nobody ever said I warn't."

"I don't fancy anybody ever did."

They were in the East Room again, with the stars and stripes, the

moving glitter of gold, the loud hum mingled with the distant strains

of martial music.

"It's really inspiring," said Lady Mary. "I wish I could write a war

poem."

"I hope there is nothing coming to inspire war doggerel; the prospect

of a new crop of war stories and war plays is too painful. We were all

brought up on the Civil War and are resigned to its literature. But

life is too short to get used to a new variety."

"Betty dear, ennui has embittered you, and I must confess that I am a

trifle weary of the war before it has begun, myself. Randolph, I think

I prefer you should vote for peace."

"I'm afraid we'll have no peace till we've had war first," said Mr.

Montgomery, grimly.

"Oh, we're goin' to have war," drawled Mrs. Mudd. "Just don't you worry

about that. Now don't blush," she said in Betty's ear. "Senator North's

makin' straight for you. I suspicion you like him better 'n Burleigh--"

Betty had turned upon her at last, and the woman tittered nervously and

fell back in the crowd.

Senator North and Miss Madison shook hands with that absence of emotion

which is one of the conditions of a crowded environment, and Lady Mary

suggested they should all go to the conservatory, where it was cooler.

Betty told Senator North of the impression the Army and Navy men had

made on her, and he laughed.

"Of course they are not excited and say little," he said. "They will do

the acting and leave the talking to the private citizens. The only

argument in favour of the war and the large standing army which might

be its consequence is that several hundred thousand more men would have

disciplined brains inside their skulls."

"That dreadful housekeeper I had in the Adirondacks is here, married to

a Representative named George Washington Mudd."

"I never heard of him, but I am sorry she has come here to remind you

of what I should like to have you forget for a time. I do believe a

specimen of every queer fish in the country comes to this pond."

They passed one of the bands, and conversation was impossible until

they entered the great conservatory with its wide cool walks among the

green. It was not crowded, and although there was no seclusion in it at

any time, its lights were few and it had a sequestered atmosphere.

Betty and Senator North involuntarily drew closer together.

"In a way I am happy now," she said. "It is something to be with you

and close to you. I will not think of how much this may lack until I am

alone again and there is no limit to my wants."

"I feel the reverse of depressed," he said, smiling. "Are you quite

well? You look a little tired."

"I am tired with much thinking; but that is inevitable. One cannot love

hopelessly and look one's best. I always despised the heroines of

romance who went into a decline, but Nature demands some tribute in

spite of the strongest will."

He held her arm more closely, but he set his lips and did not answer.

She spoke again after a moment.

"Since that night I have not been nearly so unhappy, however. I even

feel gay sometimes, and my sense of humour has come back. It would be

quite dreadful to go through life without that, but I thought I had

lost it."

He had turned his eyes and was regarding her intently; but much as she

loved them she felt as helpless as ever before their depths. They could

pierce and burn, but they never were limpid for a moment.

"You do not misunderstand that?" she asked hurriedly. "It does not mean

that I love you less, but more, if anything. And I am not resigned!

Only, I feel as if in some way I had received a little help, as if--I

cannot express it."

"I understand you perfectly. We are a little closer than we were, and

life is not quite so grey."

"That is it. And I would supplement your bare statement of the fact, if

I dared."

"If you do, I certainly shall kiss you right here in the crowd," he

said, and they smiled into each other's eyes. There was little need of

explanations between them.

"That would form a brief diversion for Washington. And as for Mrs.

Mudd--By the way, I hope I am not going off. You are the second person

who has told me that I am not looking well."

"You are improved as far as I am concerned. And if you ever faded,

happiness would restore you at once. If happiness never came, perhaps

you would not care--would you?"

She shrugged her beautiful shoulders and smiled quizzically.

"I don't know. _Je suis femme_. I think I might always find some

measure of consolation in the mirror if it behaved properly."

"Your sincerity is one of your charms. So walk and eat and live in the

world, and think as little as you can."

"This conservatory is fearfully draughty," remarked Lady Mary, close to

Betty's shoulder. "I don't want to stay all night, do you?"

"I am ready," said Betty; but she sighed, for she had been almost happy

for the hour.