Shirley rose at once, although loath to leave.
“I had no idea it was so late,” she said. “How the time flies!” Then mockingly she added: “Come, Jefferson—be a good boy and find a cab.”
They passed out of the Gardens by the gate facing the Théâtre de l'Odéon, where there was a long string of fiacres for hire. They got into one and in fifteen minutes they were back at the Grand Hotel.
At the office they told Shirley that her aunt had already come in and gone to her room, so she hurried upstairs to dress for dinner while Jefferson proceeded to the Hotel de l'Athénée on the same mission. He had still twenty-five minutes before dinner time, and he needed only ten minutes for a wash and to jump into his dress suit, so, instead of going directly to his hotel, he sat down at the Café de la Paix. He was thirsty, and calling for a vermouth frappé he told the garçon to bring him also the American papers.
The crowd on the boulevard was denser than ever. The business offices and some of the shops were closing, and a vast army of employés, homeward bound, helped to swell the sea of humanity that pushed this way and that.
But Jefferson had no eyes for the crowd. He was thinking of Shirley. What singular, mysterious power had this girl acquired over him? He, who had scoffed at the very idea of marriage only a few months before, now desired it ardently, anxiously! Yes, that was what his life lacked—such a woman to be his companion and helpmate! He loved her—there was no doubt of that. His every thought, waking and sleeping, was of her, all his plans for the future included her. He would win her if any man could. But did she care for him? Ah, that was the cruel, torturing uncertainty! She appeared cold and indifferent, but perhaps she was only trying him. Certainly she did not seem to dislike him.
The waiter returned with the vermouth and the newspapers. All he could find were the London Times, which he pronounced T-e-e-m-s, and some issues of the New York Herald. The papers were nearly a month old, but he did not care for that. Jefferson idly turned over the pages of the Herald. His thoughts were still running on Shirley, and he was paying little attention to what he was reading. Suddenly, however, his eyes rested on a headline which made him sit up with a start. It read as follows:
JUDGE ROSSMORE IMPEACHED
JUSTICE OF THE SUPREME COURT TO BE TRIED ON BRIBERY CHARGES
The despatch, which was dated Washington two weeks back, went on to say that serious charges affecting the integrity of Judge Rossmore had been made the subject of Congressional inquiry, and that the result of the inquiry was so grave that a demand for impeachment would be at once sent to the Senate. It added that the charges grew out of the recent decision in the Great Northwestern Mining Company case, it being alleged that Judge Rossmore had accepted a large sum of money on condition of his handing down a decision favourable to the company.