“In the salons,” said Peg, laughing at the General's quaint twists, “triumph turns to the mere question of numbers added to quality. It is a matter of 'Who?' and 'How many?—a count of carriages to your gate. But the query of quality is uppermost. Now, your presence at my house will outweigh the world, should it be so foolish as to gather itself together against us in the camps of the foe.”
“Then you are indeed very safe,” said the General, “since I shall be with you as I've said. Also, you are to have your dinner and that East Room ball to follow, on what day you lay the finger of your pretty preference. Even though I lacked the reason of my affection, I still could do no less for so beautiful an enemy of Calhoun. But you spoke of Van Buren. How did our round little friend go about his proposals of those joint receptions? I have a curiosity as to that argument which should lead him to this kindly wisdom; for, let me remind you, it is a stratagem worthy of a Caesar, and one, besides, to smell most humanly of what is honest and staunch, this phrasing of a situation where your ill-wishers must become his ill-wishers and his friends take on terms of friendship for you. How did Van Buren go upon that proposition, child?”
“In the oddest way, then,” smiled Peg. “He said that because we were both of tavern origin, with sires to keep houses of call, and since there might come proud folk to frown upon us for that, it were a wisest thing, and one to make for the ease of them and us, to hold ever our receptions in common. Folk then might come, or stay away, and all with a prodigious saving of effort, whether of compliment or insult, to every one concerned. But, of course,” said Peg, at the close, her eye a bit wet, “it was only his goodness to do this.”
“Now, I believe nothing of that sort,” declared the General, stoutly. “Child, I do not know by what paths you descend to this modest esteem of yourself, but it in nowise shakes the fact that, with the last of it, you grace and illustrate and honor the best room you enter or the best arm to lean on in the land.”
Thus spoke the gallant General from his heart; and to me it was like milk and honey to only hear him. In the finish he turned his eyes my way.
“And where be your words in this council?” demanded the General. “Have you lost the will to speak?”
Now, I had kept myself mighty quiet since Peg was come back to her throne. For one thing, the simple sight of her, and she friendly, was enough to overflow my cup of happiness; moreover, I owned to some lurking fear of Peg, and imagined how I had but to open my mouth to set her anger again on edge. At any rate, no stone could have said less than did I while Peg and the General held this long parley of the drawing rooms. When now, however, the General aimed at me direct, I was bound to make return.
“Have you no advice for us, then?” repeated the General. “It is not usual for you to so neglect my welfare. Here you permit me to talk ten minutes without once telling me fully and wholly just what I should do.” All this in tones of jesting: “Now you would seem willing that I, and our little girl, too, should go unguided to destruction rather than unstrap your wisdom in our cause. Sir, do you call that the truth of a friend?”
“Perhaps I have no good eyes for these trails,” said I. “Your reception perils and how to foil them are things I have not studied. I would but lose you your course were I to lead you.”
“Mighty diffident,” quoth the General, “and most suddenly abject! And no good eyes, say you? Why, then, you could see a church by daylight, I take it! At the least, you might cheer folk on who propose such deeds of carpet daring as do our little Peg and I.”