"That's an accomplishment, isn't it?" said Planefield, with his easy air.
"It is a gift of the gods," she answered. "And it was bestowed on Colonel Tredennis."
"There are talkers, you know," suggested the Senator, "who would make a good listener of a man without the assistance of the gods."
"Do you mean the Miss Stapleton with the eyelashes?" inquired Bertha, blandly.
"Oh, come now," was the response. "I think you know I don't mean the Miss Stapleton with the eyelashes. If I did, it would be more economical to make the remark to her."
"Ah!" said Bertha, blandly again. "You mean me? I hoped so. Thank you very much. And I am glad you said it before Colonel Tredennis, because it may increase his confidence in me, which is not great. I am always glad when any one pays me a compliment in his presence."
"Does he never pay you compliments himself?" asked Planefield.
Bertha gave Tredennis a bright, full glance.
"Did you ever pay me a compliment?" she said. "Will you ever pay me a compliment—if I should chance to deserve one?"
"Yes," he answered, his face unsmiling, his voice inflexible. "May I begin now? You always deserve them. My only reason for failing to pay them is because I am not equal to inventing such as would be worthy of you. Your eyes are like stars—your dress is the prettiest in the room—every man present is your slave and every woman pales before you—the President is going home now only because you have ceased to smile upon him."