Then the Senator, noticing the rose pink in her cheek, and feeling a mischievous desire to heighten it, turned to her suddenly and said:
"My dear young lady, I don't see how you are interested in this bill. You'll be pretty sure to get your rights without it—or your privileges, which will count you for more. What are your arguments?"
Bess caught her breath and drew back, crimsoning to the roots of her fluffy hair. That she should be called upon to speak had not entered her pretty head. She had no arguments. To her the bill itself was a question, not of law and right, but of Margaret and her child. She had not reached the age for generalizing; the operations of her mind were still in terms of 2 + 2 instead of a + b, to follow the genial Autocrat. But there was no coward blood in Bess's veins, though she was pure feminine. She valiantly took up the gage thrown down.
"I haven't any," she said, with a frank laugh. "The other ladies have the argument. I only came to make one more." Then modestly, "But still,—I don't know,—I may be wrong—of course you know so much better about—oh, everything—than I do, but it seems to me that it does concern me more even than it does grandma. Of course I'm not a mother—but I hope sometime I may be—I'd hate awfully to think I never should!" The Senator bowed respectfully to her womanhood, with an indulgent smile and a significant wave of the hand toward the elder ladies. The gesture said, "You see? There is the whole story in a nutshell! This is woman's sphere."
"And then," continued Bess with a flash of her bright eyes, "I tell you I wouldn't want any old law interfering with my child and giving anybody the right to take it away from me! I'd fight like a wild-cat! Well,—that's what they did to Margaret."
"Who is Margaret?" asked the Senator, finding this more interesting than prosaic arguments.
"Oh, I thought you knew about Margaret. Why,—"
"It is the case I was referring to a moment ago, Senator," broke in Mrs. Greuze, a little impatiently. "A case in point exactly. I will repeat—"
"One moment," blandly interposed the gentleman. "Now who is Margaret, my dear?"
"Why, Margaret is our friend—grandma's and mine—the one whose husband willed her baby away from her. I don't know why, I'm sure—nobody knows—but it was in the will and so it had to stand, the judge said, because that was the law. You must have heard of it."