“Well, the thing is possible. You see, politics are such a dirty business –all kinds of men get in.”
Joe laughed in a way that made Vancouver nervous. He was beginning to know her, and he could tell when some sharp thrust was coming by the way she laughed. Nevertheless, he was fascinated by her.
“It is not long since you told me that Mr. Harrington’s very mild remark about extinguishing bribery and corruption was a piece of gross exaggeration,” said Joe. “Why do you say politics are dirty work?”
“There is a great difference,” answered Vancouver.
“What difference? Between what?”
“Between saying that the business of politics is not clean, and saying that all public officers are liars, like the Cretans.”
“Who is exaggerating now?” asked Joe scornfully.
“Of course it is I,” answered Vancouver, submissively. “If it is not a rude question, did not that dress come from Egypt?”
“Yes.” The garment in question was made of a kind of soft white, fluted material over a rose-colored silk ground. The raised flutings followed the exquisite lines of Joe’s figure, and had the double merit of accentuating its symmetry, and of so leading the eye as to make her height seem greater than it really was. Cut square at the neck, it showed her dazzling throat at its best advantage, and a knot of pink lilies at the waist harmonized delicately with the color of the whole.
“It is just like you,” said Vancouver, “to have something different from everybody else. I admire Eastern things so much, and one gets so tired of the everlasting round of French dresses.”