"To the B. and O., ma'am?"
Margaret glanced at her watch. "No,—home. It is too late now for Elmhurst."
In the carriage she leaned back, thinking not so much of Philip and his disappointment as of this chance meeting and the opportunity it threw in her way. It was better to have found this man than to have seen Philip. She was launched now, actually launched, and that almost without intention. The Fates certainly had favored her. With Senator Dalgleish at her own fireside, anxious to hear the story of her life and how she had fared, it ought not to be hard to enlist his sympathies. He was always a warm-hearted little man. It was a distinct advantage to be able to tell that story in her own home when he had been a guest at her board.... And if this should prove advantageous with one—
Her course seemed opening up before her. She leaned back in the carriage bowling up Massachusetts Avenue and deliberately counted her assets. She had a beautiful home and means to open it whenever there was anything to gain by doing so—she was opening it to-morrow for a distinct purpose. Then she had social position, or at least she had had, and that of a kind that would make its recovery an easy thing—Marie Van Dorn had been right about that. Well, social standing and wealth were good things, but they were not all, nor were they the things she chiefly relied upon. She had discovered that day in looking the Senate over that she was the possessor of a number of inherited friendships with those who sat in the seats of the mighty—her father used to say that elderly people liked to be sought out by their old friends' children. Well! she would seek them out. Those old friendships might stand her now in good stead. It was the first time she had ever deliberately appraised her father's friends as being likely to be worth so much and so much to her—but—it was a good cause.... Then she had youth and beauty—she told herself this as coolly and impersonally as if she had been reckoning up the points of a rival—and neither was to be ignored. She had enough worldly wisdom to know that.
She did not say to herself, as she might have said, that in addition to and far beyond these was another possession—that impalpable, intangible something which for want of a better name we call personal magnetism—that subtle power which attracts and holds, which persuades, convinces, enlists, kindles enthusiasm from its own flame, and communicates life by the sheer force of its vital touch.
As she looked over her armory, her courage rose. They were a woman's weapons, but they were not to be despised. Her spirit was girding itself for the conflict. There was a positive sense of exhilaration in the thought of action.
CHAPTER XXXIII
A LONG PULL AND A STRONG PULL
That session saw a quiet, persistent, effective campaign waged in the city of Washington. Many women living there now will remember it, for many were in its forefront, and what we put ourselves into we do not forget. Many men, too, some still in Congressional circles and some by the mutations of time and politics relegated to private life, may recall it,—not a few for the generous help they gave but a greater number as the unjust judge kept in remembrance the cause of the widow whose continual coming wearied him.