University of Virginia Library

31. CHAPTER XXX.
WALTER'S WONDERFUL ADVENTURES IN WASHINGTON—THE
POLITICAL PANDEMONIUM.

Days flew past, and yet Walter did not obtain his commission.
The papers throughout the country announced the appointment,
and yet it had not been sent in to the Senate.
But the young man's patience was not exhausted. Honoria
continued to amuse him by day, and he dreamt of her at
night.

Nevertheless there were others who desired to know something
in regard to the state of his affairs; and among those
were his mother, and her guest, Virginia Oakdale. Walter
had written to his mother but once since his sojourn in Washington,
and to Virginia not at all, except in a postscript to his
mother's letter. And now, when the second or third letter
from his parent was placed in his hands, it must be owned
he did not hasten to break the seal with the same intensity
of affection he had experienced upon the reception of the
first. She wrote thus:—“At Babbleton we see the papers.
From them we learn that you have become an official dignitary.
But we never could have supposed your exaltation
would make you forget your mother and your friends so soon.
We thought at least you would communicate the intelligence
by letter, and not leave us to learn the fact, like the rest of
the world, through the newspapers. Still we are rejoiced at
your success, and humbly claim the privilege of tendering
our congratulations.

Walter snatched up a pen to write a scolding letter to Virginia,
but threw it aside as he heard the clock strike the hour
when the doors of the Presidential Palace were to be thrown
open for the reception of the promiscuous company that usually
resorted thither.

As he surveyed himself in the glass, the thought occurred
to him that it was exceedingly absurd to witness the decrepit
senator of seven decades, bearing off the angelic Honoria, while
he was under the necessity of proceeding alone, on foot, or
riding in an omnibus. He resolved it should not be; and he
quickly put in execution the thought that flashed across his
mind. Knowing the senator would have to pass his door before
descending to the great hall, in front of which his carriage
was in waiting, he determined to arrest his progress. He
emptied his ink-bottle on some waste paper, and seizing a cord
which lay under his bed, sallied out into the corridor, and tied
the ends to two chairs standing several feet apart. The saturated
paper was carefully placed upon the floor, and then he
hastened back to his chamber.

In a few minutes a tremendous racket was heard among the
chairs, with which in the darkness the senator had become inextricably
entangled. In his desperate struggles several were
crushed to atoms; but the cord being wound round his legs,
he was thrown down upon the floor. Walter seizing his lamp
rushed out, and found the old gentleman venting curses upon
the children of the guests who had been playing with the chairs
during the day. Walter assisted the senator to rise, and conducted
him into his chamber.

“I hope, sir, you have received no injury,” said the young
rogue.

“Injury! Look at my vest! It was white, sir, a few
minutes since. Now look at it! Look at my hands! What
the devil is it? Ink! It's on my cravat, and my face!”
he continued, turning to Walter's glass. “Those mischievous

children! children at a hotel! I'll sue the landlord for damages!
A senator to be tripped up in this manner and blackened
with ink! It will require a week's scrubbing to remove the
stains! The infernal children!”

“It is a great outrage, sir!” said Walter.

“It is, my young friend. And I am glad you regard it in
that light. If any of my mess were to see me thus, and learn
the manner of my fall, they would give vent to explosions of
laughter, and take possession of my carriage and Honoria together.
They shall not see me. You sympathize with me
gravely and sincerely, and Honoria I know entertains a favorable
opinion of your merit. Go to her, and describe my mishap,
but in such a way that nothing ludicrous shall appear in
it. Say I will follow if I succeed in removing these foul blots
from my hands and face. Go, my young friend. The carriage
is at the door, and the lady is awaiting me in the parlor.”

Walter did not linger. Although surprised, Honoria did
not appear to be pained to learn that her septuagenarian beau
was rendered incapable of accompanying her to the soiree. In
perfect beauty and spirits, and flashing with diamonds, she accepted
the arm of Walter and was conducted to the carriage,
when one of the senator's men, who had been sent thither for
the purpose, held open the door. After requesting the coachman
to drive slowly, Walter followed his precious charge into the
carriage, and occupied the seat at her side, where she welcomed
him with a smile.

“Now,” said she, in a low tone, as they moved slowly
away, “you must confess that you had some agency in producing
this accident.”

“You were the cause of it,” said Walter.

“I? Oh I understand! But you might have seriously
injured the old gentleman. It was very, very naughty of you.
But as you say I was the cause of it, I must forgive you.
And I must not betray you, or you would never have his vote
on your nomination.”

“Ah!” said Walter, “it seems that my appointment is
never to be sent in.”

“Why do they delay it?”

“It is a mystery—unless it may be accounted for in the
withdrawal of Plastic's recommendation. It seems that I gave
him offence. But, still, the President, whom I have seen since
then, assures me my claims, on account of his friendship for

my father, and my own merits—the very words he used—are
quite sufficient. The difficulty must lie in the State Department—but
I can learn nothing from the secretary.”

“What does he say?”

“He tells me to have patience, and to come often for instructions
in regard to the duties. I am daily wasting the
precious hours over international law and a confused multiplicity
of treaty stipulations, perhaps to no purpose. I have
heard of one gentleman, relying on their promises of an appointment
to France, who spent several months in learning
the French verbs, but at last only travelled home in disgust.”

“I wish I could aid you—but then in the event of another
such accident as happened this evening, what should I do?”

“Every one assures me your aid would be effectual.
And yet I confess I should leave the city with reluctance.
But necessity knows no law, or rather yields to no inclinations,
and whether I obtain my commission or not, I must soon take
my leave of you.”

“Indeed! Why? Are your finances low, like those of
most of the hangers-on at the capital.”

“Yes, truly. I think I should have abandoned the pursuit
of office before this, if there had been no other attraction.”

“Again I am the cause! Well, it is incumbent on me
to replenish your purse. Have you ever visited Aurini's
saloon?”

“The gambling hell? No!”

“None but gentlemen are admitted—and they say none
but the rich can lose, and their losses are enormous. What
becomes of the money is a mystery. My husband has been there
twice since we came to Washington, and was both times quite
successful. He borrowed this ring of me,” she continued,
taking one from her finger and placing it on Walter's hand,
“and pledged it for ten dollars, at the farthest table from the
door, at the extreme end of the room. He won invariably.
Keep the ring and test your fortune.”

“I will wear the ring,” said Walter.

“If you do not use it in the manner my husband did,” said
Honoria, “you must return it at the end of three days. My
husband may return; and he may have use for it. He deems
it a charmed ring. The carriage stops. We are at the
portico.”

They descended from the carriage, and were swept along

with the stream of human beings into the presence of the chief
Executive of the nation, who strode forward to meet Honoria,
with whom he exchanged most cordial salutations, and upon
whom he bestowed the most flattering speeches. He told her
his own reign was over for the night, that he should be
eclipsed by a brighter luminary, etc. Then turning to Walter,
whose hand he shook very heartily, he said: “My young
friend, you have the most potent advocate in the city. I shall
have to invoke your influence with your friend to induce
her to exercise her power over the legislators for the consummation
of the great measures of the government. Whatever
she decrees must be the law.”

“I hope she will have pity, then, on her humble servant,”
said Walter.

“What do you mean?” she asked, as they emerged from
the circle round the President, and moved away towards the
great east room.

“Oh, any thing or nothing. I supposed it necessary to
make some response to the President's nonsense, and did not
know exactly what I was uttering.”

“I saw Father Xavier turn his piercing eyes towards us.
He is my confessor. Be careful what you say in his hearing
—and remember that he sees and hears almost every thing.”

Walter was on the eve of uttering a sarcasm on the priest,
when he perceived the Jesuit had followed them, and thought
he could discover a tremor in the fair hand that lay upon his
arm. Honoria sank on a sofa, and Walter was beckoned aside
by Mr. Boozle. The priest uttered a few words in the lady's
ear and disappeared in the crowd. And then Honoria was
surrounded by a number of worshippers. The high official
dignitaries of other nations, as well as the American, vied in
their adulations. And she surprised every one by the extent
of her information. She knew something of the history of
every man of mark who approached her; of their objects,
their hopes, their fears; and her witty repartees often concealed
the most startling allusions, which, however, were only
appreciated by those for whom they were intended. She was
familiar with the details of every intrigue for the presidency,
every stratagem to destroy the prospects of the most prominent
individuals, and every secret of diplomacy. She knew also
the designs of ambitious mothers, the longings and aversions
of the smiling daughters; the chances of expectants, and the

impending destruction of confident incumbents. No wonder,
then, that her words were listened to with the reverence of
oracles from the lips of a pythoness; that her hostility should
be deprecated, and her favor implored by all.

Even Walter, from her supposed partiality for him, was
overwhelmed with attentions by the greedy crew of minor
office-seekers.

“Mr. Winkle,” said Boozle, leading Walter into an obscure
recess, “every body is asking why the official announcement
of your confirmation by the Senate is delayed.”

“If I knew the proper one to interrogate,” said Walter,
I would like to ask the same question; I presume, however,
my name has not yet reached the Senate.”

“No—not yet. Do you know how the papers which havo
been announcing your appointment obtained the information?”

“I do not. I suppose they had it from the Department.”

“They are opposition papers. Such premature announcements
do no good.”

“I had no agency in them. You will please say as much
for me to the secretary. Perhaps something of this kind has
caused the delay. I am growing very impatient, and have expended
my money.”

“I am sure I wish you had thousands. But you are aware
I suppose that Mr. Plastic has withdrawn —.”

“I anticipated as much. He is a man of no weight, of
no importance whatever except in his own estimation; and between
us, he will never have another opportunity to misrepresent
our people.”

“Besides,” continued the imperturbable Boozle, “some one
has informed the secretary that you are a Native American.”

“I was not born in Rome. What is the Secretary himself
but a native? This is trifling with me; if such difficulties are
to be trumped up to delay or defeat my appointment, I will
see him to-morrow, and know exactly what I am to expect.”

“What I mean is that it is intimated you are a Know
Nothing. It is true men of all parties are joining that secret
order; but the organ of the administration having taken
ground against it, the K. N's are to be henceforth regarded as
our enemies.”

“That may be the policy of the administration, and I
shall say nothing in opposition to it. I shall answer no questions—I

will not be interrogated by any man living in regard
to such things as concern myself alone.”

“Don't be hasty. I have not said the secretary believes
the intimation well founded—”

“What business is it of the secretary's to believe or disbelieve
any thing of the sort concerning me? I have not
changed my principles, and do not mean to change them. If
I have sufficient claims and qualifications for the office I seek,
let him and the President decide my case on such grounds
alone!”

“No doubt they will. But you must admit they have
cause to deprecate the furious assault daily formed in the
Know Nothing organ. These attacks are exceedingly annoying.”

“No question of it. And I think some of them are deserved—”

“Mr. Winkle!”

“You must admit too many foreigners are permitted to
exercise control. The people will not stand it; and the administration
ought to be warned in time.”

“I agree with you, to some extent. But then the stinging
ridicule the editor of the American deals in—the unlimited
sarcasms he employs—see! there he is now—and he has
the effrontery to come here with his great blue goggles!”

“Oh, my dear sir, this house belongs to the people; and
on public occasions such as the present, the President has no
authority to exclude friend or foe.”

“Very true. But still it would be a meritorious action
to rebuke an enemy of the President—”

“Undoubtedly! In what way do you mean?”

“By a chivalrous act—such as your father once performed.”

“My father pulled some one's nose for slandering his
friend.”

“Yes, and that silenced and subdued the calumniator.
Well, the President is your friend, and the American, as he
conceives, slanders him daily. If you were to make it a personal
matter, and—”

“Get shot for him, he would bestow the appointment on
me as an equivalent. Is that it?”

“Certainly not! No man was ever killed in Washington
by an editor. You need have no apprehension.”

“Apprehension? I do not understand you. Let me have
a just quarrel—and I may have one—and we'll see who'll be
troubled with apprehensions. I know the editor of the American—and
I am satisfied he has a pacific disposition. Why
the deuce don't your own organ-man resent some of the
charges brought against the President and himself?”

“I know not. But will we see you to-morrow?”

“Yes—for the last time, I think, unless my matter be
promptly disposed of.”

They separated, and Walter approached as near as he
could to the great centre of attraction, the brilliantly diademed
Honoria. She was flashing her glorious eyes at the
editor of the American, who listened enraptured to her thrilling
accents. Walter perceived immediately that she had
some design upon his friend; and although he might feel some
pricks of jealousy, he did not deem it expedient to attempt
an interposition. The editor, though evidently charmed, was
not embarrassed; and when the promenade was resumed, the
queenly Honoria took possession of his arm.

It was quite late when the discomfited senator appeared:
but his presence sufficed to banish Walter from the side of
the reigning belle. Not so with the editor of the American.
Satisfied he had the approbation of the lady herself, all the
powers of the government were unequal to the task of banishing
him from her presence; and he stood at the door
of the carriage and assisted her up the steps, when she retired
from the White House, although the senator was a bitter
opponent of his party.

Walter returned to his lodgings on foot, having declined
the faint invitation of the senator to occupy a seat in his carriage.
He found two letters on his table. The first he opened
was from Mr. Bell, requesting him to transmit the letter he
had received from Patrick McClusky, that the writing on the
back of the lost check, which had been found, might be compared
with it. He said he entertained no doubt that Paddy
was a bungling forger; and although he might not be able to
convict him of the offence, still he could frighten him off the
list of pertinacious applicants for office. His aunt declined
replacing the check, having seen the announcement of his appointment
to a lucrative post, and supposing him to be in no
need of pecuniary assistance.

The other was from his landlord, enclosing his bill. Walter

counted the few coins remaining in his purse, and ascertained
that he did not possess one fifth the amount demanded.
What was he to do? His eye fell upon the ring which Honoria
had placed on his finger. He gazed at it long in deep
abstraction, and was only awakened from his lethargy by the
returning consciousness that he was unable to satisfy his host's
demand. Starting up, he determined to go to Aurini's. In
all his life he had never won or lost a dollar in any such establishment;
and certainly nothing less than the instigation of
such a creature as Honoria could have induced him to try the
hazard of the game. But why should he pledge the ring,
when he still possessed a few coins. He looked at it again,
and discovered the form of a cross set in small diamonds.
Was it not abominable to use such an emblem in such a place?
But Honoria sanctioned it, and even seemed to require it.
Her will was irresistible.

He descended to the street, and after striding but a few
hundred paces, found himself standing before the dark entrance
to the noted establishment, which no law could suppress,
and no resolution withstand. Walter recollected the
word which had been given him, and repeated it at the door.
He was admitted, and conducted through a long and dimly
lighted passage. Then a door on the right was thrown open,
and he stood within a brilliantly illuminated saloon, where the
tables were piled with gold, and hundreds were watching with
eager interest the turning of the cards which announced their
success or disaster. He paused for a moment, and calmly
surveyed the scene. Among the company he recognized faces
he had seen in the halls of Congress, a member of the Cabinet,
several resident foreign ministers with numerous attachés,
and a score of comptrollers, auditors, clerks and messengers.

Recollecting his instructions, the young man approached
the table at the farthest end of the saloon, and exhibited the
ring. At the sight of it there was some commotion among
the keepers of the table, and a mysterious deference was manifested
in their dealings with him. The sum he named was
given him, and every turn of the cards announced him a winner;
but it was impossible to excite any emotions of cupidity
in his breast. The prospect of large gains was certainly inviting;
and he could have no means of conjecturing to what
extent he might rely upon the favors of fortune. Nevertheless,

he turned away with a very moderate accumulation, bearing
the redeemed ring along with him.

Returned to his lodgings, he counted his gains, and was
astonished to find he possessed, after deducting the amount of
his landlord's bill, precisely the sum he had counted on the
same table the first night of his arrival in the city. It was a
most extraordinary coincidence, and bootless was every attempt
to find its solution. He repaired immediately to the office
below and settled the bill. Whether it was the unexpected
sight of the money, or whether there had really been a misconception
of the proprietor's instructions, the clerk declared
the bill had been presented through mistake, and that it might
remain unpaid, if Mr. Winkle desired it, until the end of the
month. Walter did not desire it, and hence it was paid.
But many apologies were uttered.

After a troubled sleep, during which Honoria seemed to
guide his steps through many perilous paths, but only to encounter
new difficulties and dangers, Walter arose with a half-formed
resolution to tear asunder the meshes which confined
him, and return to his mother and the faithful Virginia. Once
more only would he apply at the Department; after that, if
his appointment were again postponed indefinitely, he would
abandon the pursuit, and seek some less equivocal means of
support.

In the forenoon he obtained an interview with Honoria in
her private parlor. She was most elegantly dressed, and said
she had been expecting him.

“I desire merely to return this ring,” said Walter.

“Yes,” said she, smiling, “I must receive it back; but I
did not think you would part with it so readily. I had hoped
it possessed some talismanic virtues.”

“It has performed its mission faithfully. I obeyed your
instructions, and have now a replenished purse. But I cannot
touch the money without experiencing a thrill of horror.”

“Horror? Why?”

“The ring has restored the sum, exactly, that I counted
on my table the day of my arrival in the city.”

“That does seem to be a singular circumstance. Perhaps
some one, unregarded at the time, saw you count the money.”

“An Irishman may have come in to stir the fire, or a maid
to sweep the hearth, and they might have heard me name the
sum; but who could tell what would be the amount of my

landlord's bill, or the sum total of my expenditures in my
rambles about town? It was not the work of chance. Neither
was it a natural sensation which the exhibition of the ring
produced at the gaming table.”

“You will at least be convinced that a Providence watches
over and protects you.”

“I cannot avoid mistrusting that Providence which would
consign me to a hell for relief.”

“Mercy on us! Do not use profanity. There are many
things now incomprehensible to you which may be explained
hereafter. But your purse is replenished, and you will not
he unhappy from the fear of duns.”

“I shall, I think, leave the city, to-day.”

“No! Oh no! Do not for my sake—I mean for your
own. Let me aid you. They say I am omnipotent with the
predominant powers.”

“I will go once more to the Department. But they shall
not any longer trifle with me. I have neglected my duty to
my mother, and fear I have offended—”

“Who have you offended?”

“No matter.”

“I know. I learned this morning from one who passed
through Babbleton yesterday, that Col. Oakdale has been
elected senator on the hundredth ballot. You know I must
keep well posted in such matters. And it was the casting
vote of one of the Babbleton representatives, elected by your
famous speech, that gave the victory.”

“I am rejoiced to hear it.”

“I then inquired about the colonel's family, and learned
that his only daughter, and only child, is receiving the addresses
of the son of a rich banker.”

“Your informant is an impudent liar!” said Walter,
starting up. “Snobson addressing Virginia!”

“My informant may have been in error. But no one can
be mistaken in attributing a cause for your violent contradiction.
Let us drop the subject. Why should I be at all
interested in the loves or hatreds of others? I shall send a
note to the President himself, and I desire you will linger
on the way, and not seek an interview with the secretary
until he can have time to hear from the White House, if
indeed my poor interposition be destined to have any effect.
Farewell, sir. I did think I might have the pleasure of your

attendance at the capital, after your return from the department.
But you seem to be in no complying humor. I am
sure I hope the information respecting the new senator's
daughter was ill founded.”

“Pardon me, Honoria. If it can afford you pleasure,
rely upon it, I will go through flames to attend you.”

Walter withdrew and strode slowly along the avenue. He
was soon overtaken and passed by Honoria's messenger.
When he arrived at the Department, he sought a chair in the
ante-room, then crowded with applicants for the various offices
at the disposal of the great man at the head of the Cabinet.
But he was soon found by Boozle and conducted into the
presence of the secretary, who received him with a smile.

“Sit down, my friend,” said the secretary.

“Excuse me,” said Walter, dryly, determined no longer
to be made a laughing-stock of the tricky officials—“I have
but a moment to stay, and this is my final visit. If my fate
cannot be decided without further delays, I shall desire to
withdraw my application.”

“You must not be too hasty, my young friend. Impatience
is the evil of youth, and—”

“Pardon me, sir, for interrupting you. But first show me
a necessity for it, and I will match my patience against the
endurance of the necessity. It is the suspense, the uncertainty,
the duplicity —”

“Well, well—let your doubts have a termination from
this hour. Here is a note from the President, demanding an
immediate transmission to him of your name. He had forgotten
whether it was William or Walter. You may be the
bearer of it since it belongs to you.”

“With pleasure, in the commission—”

“Commissions are not sent to the Senate. It would be a
waste of stationery where they did not advise and consent to
the appointment. Merely the name is sent in by the President.
After you are confirmed, then will I have the commission
delivered to you. The messenger waits. Will you
see the President, or—”

“I remember I have an appointment with Mrs. —”

“Honoria? Eh? Boozle, send the note by the messenger.
She is a charming woman! And Senator — is so
much infatuated, as he himself admits, with the music of her
voice, that his casting vote, on all evenly contested questions,

seems to be completely at her disposal. In that way she may
serve you, and you will do well to secure her advocacy. But
be careful she does not make a Catholic of you. Mr. —,
they say, has actually been to mass. Adieu.”

Walter hurried back to the hotel with a smile on his lip,
and exultation in his heart. Honoria's carriage was at the
door, although the weather was fine for walking. But she
insisted on Walter's riding with her, and they drove a mile
beyond the capitol before alighting at it. In the rotunda, on
the stairs and in the galleries, the beautiful creature received
the tributes of all classes and sexes, for she was now at the
summit of her power; and whatever might have been secretly
thought by the envious or the considerate, no one ventured to
breathe a syllable of detraction. The value of her favor had
been experienced by thousands, and the effects of her hostility
had been tested by not a few. The marvel was, that
Walter, whose appointment had been unofficially announced,
had not yet passed the Senate.

That day the Senate adjourned at an earlier hour than
usual; and upon the motion of Honoria's admirer. One of
the senators opposed to the motion, jocosely attributed the
mover's impatience, to the fact, that a certain divinity presided
in the gallery at the other end of the capitol.

Walter relinquished his charge when the gallant old gentleman
approached, after congratulating him upon the removal
of the blots of the preceding evening. The senator replied
that it was truly an achievement for any public man to obliterate
entirely the foul stains of ink.

The same evening Walter was surprised by the delivery
into his hand of a formidable envelope, which at first he supposed
to be his long-hoped-for commission; but the Babbleton
postmark being upon it he was soon undeceived, and the throbbings
of his heart were suddenly repressed.

He tore open the envelope, and some twenty letters of his
own, written to Virginia, fell upon the table! Then his heart
almost ceased to beat. What could it mean? He had certainly
not been a voluminous correspondent since his sojourn
in the Federal city; but he did not deem that neglect a sufficient
provocation to have the whole volume of his former
epistolatory labors thrust back upon him.

On the blank page of one of the letters he found the
following lines traced in pencil marks:—“Henceforth I am

to be a stranger to the writer of these letters. One who is so
oblivious of his pledges will be relieved, rather than pained
at this absolution, which is meant to be complete and irrevocable.
Irrevocable, because when he shall prove false to the
captivating Honoria, he may attempt to become reconciled to
the one who was the first to listen to his declarations. V. O.”

“The dence!” cried Walter, starting up and traversing
the room rapidly backwards and forwards, while his temples
burned and his thoughts boiled in inextricable confusion.
“How has she heard any thing in relation to my intimacy
with Honoria? And what has she heard? Some infernal
lie! And at a time, too, when she is entangling that puppy
Snobson—the son of a snob! What have I done? From
the President down to the deputy postmaster, all are striving
for the smiles of Honoria. She is the most beautiful—the
most intelligent—the most—but she's a married woman, and
never was worth the twentieth part of Virginia! I have been
a fool—and Virginia's a fool to listen to such slanders! And
to send my letters back on account of a little innocent flirtation
with a married woman! I won't explain any thing! If she
can't ascertain my meaning, and justify my conduct without
assistance, she may expire in ignorance. But if Snobson
comes here dangling after her, I'll kick him into the middle
of the avenue! If we are to be strangers when we meet, she
shall at least behold me with the finest woman in the city
leaning on my arm!”

A note from Honoria was brought in by a demure Irish
girl. Walter glanced at it hastily, and immediately followed
the messenger into Honoria's private parlor, where he found
the lady sitting alone. She pointed to an ottoman at her side,
and Walter threw himself on it.

“You seem disturbed in mind,” said she.

“I have cause to be. Mr. — informs me that my name
has not yet been sent in to the Senate and I hear from
home—”

“What?”

“No matter. It is a private affair.”

“We are in private. I am your friend, and, you know,
interested in your affairs.”

“I believe so, truly, and more extensively than you are
aware of!”

“I do not understand you.”

“I do not understand it myself. Your ring replenished
my purse; your note to the President caused him to send for
my name, and perhaps your old Senator may confirm my nomination,
if it should really be made. Your friendship has
lost me my love—the love of Miss Oakdale, and I don't see
how I am to be compensated for that. You should have suffered
me to depart without my commission, as I shall probably
be compelled to do yet.”

“Lost your love! Why do you think so?”

“She has returned my letters. She says we are to be
strangers when we meet, and she will be here soon.”

“She will be reconciled, when she sees you avoid my company.”

“Then she shall look in vain, unless you repulse me. She
has acted foolishly, and ought to suffer for it—or rather undergo
the penalty of making amends.”

“I will not avoid you, I think you are right. I learn Col.
Oakdale and his daughter will be here to night.”

“How? At this hotel?”

“No. At a private boarding-house. Will your heart not
fail you?”

“It never did yet. I think not.”

“We'll soon see. But here is company.”

Several gentlemen entered, and among them the editor of
the administration journal. Walter withdrew, returning
coldly the salutations of the visitors. He thought it strange
that people of all parties should be seeking admission to Honoria,
utterly forgetting that he belonged to an order avowedly
hostile to the political advancement of Roman Catholics.
Then he thought the last number of the American paper was
somewhat softened in its tone in regard to the religion of
the papists; admitting that there might be angels of that
faith, and against which war was not to be waged. But his
thunders redoubled against the temporal power of the Vatican
as exercised in Catholic countries; and against the party
of the President, whose proclivities seemed to point towards
the Catholic vote in the United States.

The next day, Walter waited on the President, and was
admitted by the doorkeeper, who supposed that any one on
terms of intimacy with the lady for whose smiles all the
magnates were striving, should not be kept waiting at the
door of the Executive palace.

The President was in an ill humor at something he had
seen in the papers, but strove to receive the young man kindly.
He said he had not sent in the nomination, for the reason
that a great many appointments remained unacted on before
the Senate and they were taken up according to their dates.
It would be useless to crowd the tables with new names, while
the old ones had not received attention. And he exhorted
his young friend to have patience. His turn would come.
If any thing occurred to frustrate his intention, it would be
announced to him, &c. Walter bowed, and retired in silence.