"'When you called'—she began.
"I looked at her with a blush, as of slight embarrassment, which seemed to disturb her.
"'You have not forgotten that you called?' she remarked, chillingly.
"'It would have been impossible for me to forget anything so agreeable,' I said, as though in delicately eager apology. 'I am most unlucky. It was some more fortunate person.'
"'But,' she said, 'I returned the visit.'
"'I received your card,' I replied, smiling ingenuously into her eyes, 'and it reminded me of my delinquency. Of course I knew it was a mistake.'
"And after I had smiled into her eyes for a second or so longer, she began to understand, and I think by this time it is quite clear to her."
"There must be a moral to that," commented Tredennis.
"There is," she responded, with serene readiness. "A useful one. It is this: It is always safe—in Washington—to be civil to the respectably clad. If the exigencies of public position demand that you receive, not the people you wish to see, or the people who wish to see you, but the respectably clad, it is well to deal in glittering generalities of good manners, and even—if you choose to go so far—good feeling. There are numbers of socially besieged women in Washington who actually put the good feeling first; but the Government cannot insist on that, you know, so it remains a matter of taste."
"If you could draw the line"—began Richard.