"And my heart is full of sadness," says I, beginning to droop again.
"Nonsense, you will be happy as a bird when we once get a-going," says she.
Cousin E. E. isn't a woman of great depth, but she knows a thing or two about fashionable life.
The York papers did announce to the world that a distinguished party had gone on to the seat of government, and, singular enough, it was done exactly in E. E.'s own words—a circumstance that rather puzzled me. What was more—the very day we got to Washington all the papers there did the same thing, which set us at the top of the heap at once.
I hadn't the least idea of interfering with the Japanese that came to us from California, and in that way seem to be turning the world the other side about from what it used to be; but when genius takes the bit between its teeth, it's apt to scatter things right and left. I suppose it was the newspapers did it, but I hadn't been a day at the hotel when a letter come to us from the President's mansion, which invited us to come to the White House and see the Japanese presentation—in full dress.
I declare I felt myself blushing all over when I read that. Did any one suppose that we were a-coming to meet those outside potentates half dressed? Some of them, perhaps, unmarried men.
"The idea!" as that child would say. I showed the card to Cousin E. E., who seemed to think it all right, so I said nothing, though the whole thing had riled me so it seemed as if I never should stop blushing.
"What does it mean," says I.
"We must go, Dick or Lottie," says she.
"Go—how?" says I. "Haven't they got horses and carriages in this great city, that we must go in an outlandish thing like that?"