Bertha was in the parlor alone. When Arbuthnot entered he found her standing in the middle of the room, looking down at the roses on her gayly painted fan, and evidently not seeing them.
"Well," he began, by way of greeting, "I hope you have been enjoying yourself—with your senators."
She looked up, and made a quick, eager little movement toward him, as if she was more glad to see him than usual.
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "I believe I was wishing you would come."
"Thank you," he said; "but the compliment would be greater if you were sure of it."
"I think I am sure of it, now you are here," she answered, "though I don't know at all why I wanted you—unless it was to tell you that I have not been enjoying myself in the least—with my senators."
"I am delighted to hear it," he replied. "Nothing could please me better. They are always too numerous, and lately one is continually meeting them on the steps and being scowled at."
She shut her fan quickly, with a slight frown.
"Why scowled at?" she said. "That would be absurd enough."