"The Tevises were disgusting—they showed their envy so plainly," Cyrus said. The Tevises are trying hard to do what we're doing in a social way, and though they must have even more money than the Burkes, they're failing at it.
"They'll never get anywhere," Mr. Gunton replied. "You can't collect much of a crowd of nice people just to watch you spend money. You've got to give them a real show. There's where Miss Talltowers comes in."
"She has wonderful taste and originality," said Cyrus. Cyrus!
Mr. Gunton sat out most of the evening with Nadeshda. I suppose she was trying to make Cyrus jealous and also to create trouble between him and his uncle. I've not seen a franker flirtation even in Washington. Whenever I chanced to look at them, Mr. Gunton was talking earnestly, and she seemed to be hanging to his words like a thirsty bird to a water-pan. And her queer, subtle face was—well, it was beautiful, and gave me that sense of the wild and fierce and uncanny which makes her both fascinating and terrible. I think Mr. Gunton was infatuated—indeed, I know it. For when I spoke of her to him this morning his eyes seemed to blaze. He drew a long breath. "A wonder-woman!" he said. "I never saw anything like her—in the flesh." Then he looked a little sheepish, and added: "I mean it, but I laugh at myself, too. There are fools that don't know they're fools; then, there are fools that do know it and laugh at themselves as they plan fresh follies—it takes a pretty clever man, Miss Talltowers, to make a grand, supreme, rip-roaring ass of himself, doesn't it? At least, I hope so." And with that somewhat mysterious observation he left me abruptly.
When I saw him and Nadeshda together so much at the ball I looked out for Cyrus. He seemed bored, and devoted himself to wallflowers, but on the whole was surprisingly unconcerned, apparently. I had him in sight almost the whole evening. Jim Lafollette, who stuck to my train like a Japanese poodle—I told him so, but he didn't take the hint—said that "the gawk," meaning Cyrus, was hanging round me. "He's moon-struck," said Jim. "So your little put-up job with Jessie seems to be doing nicely, thank you." I wonder why a man assumes that the fact that he loves a woman gives him the right to insult her and makes it his duty to do it. And I wonder why we women assent to that sort of impudence. There's another conventionality that ought to be stamped out.
I find I was hasty in my judgment of Cyrus. He's a lot more of a man than he led me to suppose at first. I think he might be licked into shape. He ought to hunt up some widow or married woman older than himself and go to school for a few seasons. But perhaps Nadeshda will do as well.
January 17. There were thirty-two at Senator Burke's "little informal breakfast" yesterday morning, including four of the leading Senators, two members of the Cabinet, an ambassador and three ministers, several generals, half a dozen distinguished strangers, four or five big financial men from New York who are here on "private business" with Congress, and not a man who doesn't count for something except that wretched little Framstern, who never misses anything free. And our regular weekly informal dance was an equal success in its way. Senator Ritchie told me it was amazing how Burke had forged to the front in influence and in popularity. "And now that the newspapers have begun to take him up he'll soon be standing out before the whole country." So my little suggestion about the wives and families of correspondents of the big papers, which the Burkes adopted, is bearing fruit. And Mrs. Burke is so genuinely friendly and hospitable that really I've only to suggest her being nice to somebody to set her to work. If she were the least bit of a fraud I'd not dare—she'd only get into trouble.
January 18. I was breakfasting alone in my sitting-room this morning—I always do an hour or so of work before I touch anything to eat—when Mr. Gunton sent, asking if he might join me. I was glad to have him. His direct way is attractive, and he never talks without saying at least a few things I haven't heard time and again. He was in riding clothes, and as soon as I looked at him I saw he had something on his mind.
"Good ride?" I asked.
He made an impatient gesture—whenever he has anything to say and doesn't know how to begin, the way to start him off is to make some commonplace remark. It acts like a blow that knocks in the head of a full barrel. "I was out with the Baroness Daragane," he said, "with Nadeshda."