“I don’t know.”
“Oh, you don’t?” There was some consolation in this, Lettice thought, and she determined to watch for herself.
The capital, raw and incomplete as it looked, still furnished more gayeties than Lettice found at home. Here were gathered the statesmen of the day, and the girl was all eagerness to have this or that important personage pointed out to her. Henry Clay and John C. Calhoun, John Randolph of Roanoke, a great friend of Lettice’s late travelling companion, Mr. Frank Key, and many other distinguished men were to be seen in the city during the session of Congress. The appearance of some of these rather disappointed Lettice. She thought the President a very insignificant person for so great an office, she wrote home to James, and Mr. Randolph was the oddest looking man she had ever seen.
“There is to be a great ball at Tomlinson’s hotel,” was one of the first pieces of news that Rhoda gave her friend.
“And shall we go?” Lettice asked.
“I am not sure. My father, you know, disapproves of the war, but—”
“Mine doesn’t,” Lettice interrupted triumphantly, “and perhaps I can get some one to take me. Should you mind if I did, Rhoda?”
“I should like to go, too,” Rhoda returned, “for there will be a most distinguished company present: the President and Mrs. Madison, the Secretaries, and—oh, everybody. It is to be in honor of the capture of the Guerrière and the Alert.”
“We must go, if there is any way,” Lettice cried. “Rhoda, tell me, do you really feel so incensed at the idea of a war as you pretend?”
Rhoda did not answer at once, and then she said slowly, “I think with my father that it is unwise; but once in it, I think we should do our best to win.”