It was the very height of the Washington season, and the city was as usual every winter, filled to overflowing.
As many of the elite as could be pressed into that very limited space was crowded into the gallery of the Senate Chamber.
Alexander with much difficulty made his way into this crowd. But Mr. Lyon was epicurean rather than intellectual, and would not endure personal discomfort for the sake of hearing the grandest burst of eloquence that ever thunderstruck the world. So after experiencing something of heat, pressure, and suffocation he turned his back upon the “Godlike,” and pushed his way through the crowd in the gallery to the crowd outside who were trying to get in, and so slowly progressed to the library, were the “population” was thinner and the air purer.
He walked up to a table where several ladies and gentlemen were gathered to look at some new illustrated volumes that lay there for inspection.
One of the ladies turned around, and he found himself face to face with his Cousin Anna.
“Good gracious, Alick, who on earth would have expected to see you here!” she exclaimed in astonishment, as she offered her hand.
He turned red and pale; took and pressed the offered hand, and then recovered himself and answered:
“Or you, Anna. I thought you were still at Old Lyon Hall.”
“And I thought you were at Richmond, or rather I had hoped you were by this time.”
“My uncle is here with you, of course,” said Alexander, wishing to avoid a topic which he saw upon the lips of his cousin.