Betty had just listened to the twenty-eighth theory of the cause of the
Maine's destruction when she turned in response to a familiar drawl.
"Why, howdy, Miss Madison, I'm real glad to run across you at last."
Betty was so taken aback that she mechanically surrendered her hand to the limp pressure of her former housekeeper. But she was not long recovering herself.
"Miss Trumbull, is it not? I was not aware that you were an acquaintance of Lady Mary Montgomery's."
"Well, I can't say as I know her real intimate yet, but I guess I shall in time, as we're both wives of Congressmen."
"Ah? You are married?" Betty experienced a fleeting desire to see the man who had been captivated by Miss Trumbull.
"Ye—as. I went out West to visit my sister after I left you and was married before I knew it—to Mr. George Washington Mudd. He's real nice, and smart—My! I expect to be in the White House before I die."
"It is among the possibilities, of course. I hope you are happy, and that meanwhile he is able to take care of you comfortably." Mrs. Mudd glistened with black silk and jet, but the cut of her gown was of the Middle West.
"Well, I guess! He's a lawyer and can make two hundred dollars a month any day. Of course I can't set up a house in Washington, but I live at the Ellsmere, and three or four of us Congressional ladies receive together and share carriages. I'll be happy to have you call—the first and third Tuesdays; but we always put it in the Post."
"I have little time for calling. I am very busy in many ways."