“I have heretofore,” went on Caleb, after allowing the impression of his words to sink in, “refused all State offices. But now I feel it a social as well as a political duty that I owe. And I shall be grateful to you for your honest support.”
He had rehearsed this last sentence many times for campaign speeches. It seemed to him to have the true oratorical ring, and to be singularly appropriate. He prepared to sit down, then checked himself.
“Some men,” he added, as an afterthought, “are in politics for a ‘holy’ purpose. Some for what’s in it for them. I find the result’s usually pretty much the same in both cases. As governor I shall do my best for Granite and for the Mountain State. Thank you.”
Caleb bowed, reseated himself and swallowed another glass of champagne at a gulp. He was not ill pleased with himself. He had risen merely to thank his guests for their presence. Little by little he had drifted further than he had at first intended. Yet, he was glad he had yielded to this unprecedented, unaccustomed yearning to expand; to show himself at his best before these people with whom he now firmly believed himself on a footing of friendly equality. Yes, on the whole, he was convinced of his success.
He glanced about him. The buzz of talk had recommenced; it seemed to him more loudly, more interestedly, with less of constraint than before. Dozens of eyes were upon him, not with the bored coldness of the earlier evening, but with curiosity and open interest. He had put people at their ease. They were accepting him as one of themselves, and behaving as he had heard they did at other functions.
Caleb was glad.
Then his complacent glance fell on his wife. She was very red in the face, and was bending over her plate, eating fast.
“Proud of the old man, poor little thing!” mused Conover, a twinge of affection for his scared, invertebrate spouse sending a softer light into his strenuous, lean face. His gaze next travelled to Blanche, his daughter. She, too, was red of face, and was talking hard, as if against time. Somehow Caleb was less assured as to the cause of her flush. Perhaps in Europe such speeches were not customary. He could explain to her later.
Anice Lanier, alone, met his eye with the frank, honest, unafraid look that was her birthright, and which made her the only living person he instinctively felt he could not bully. In her look he read, now, a mute question. He could not fathom the expression.
Caleb left his place and made his way among the tables to where she sat.