“When will that be?” Amelia asked.
“Winter after next. The governor, though, may call a special session to deal with the revenue question. That would take us all back there again next winter.”
“Next winter!” she cried, leaning over in alarm. “Do you mean you’ll have to be away all next winter, too!”
The significance of her tone was sweet to Vernon, and he raised himself to take her hands in his.
“You could be with me then, dearest,” he said softly.
“In Springfield!” she exclaimed.
“Why not?” asked Vernon. “Other members have their wives with them—some of them,” he qualified, thinking how few of the members cared to have their wives with them during the session.
“What could one do in Springfield, pray?” Amelia demanded. “Go to the legislative hops, I suppose? And dance reels with farmers and West Side politicians!” She almost sniffed her disgust.
“Why, dearest,” Vernon pleaded, “you do them a great injustice. Some of them are really of the best people; the society in Springfield is excellent. At the governor’s reception at the mansion the other night—”
“Now, Morley,” Amelia said, with a smile that was intended to reproach him mildly for this attempt to impose upon her credulity.