Gertrude had not seen him since election day. He had been ill after the election was all over, and unable to go out for a fortnight; and although he had been strongly tempted to write a note of congratulation to the new mayor, he was kept back by pride—which in this case, it must be admitted, was another name for obstinacy. For this reason, he did not decide whether or no to attend the new mayor's reception until Bailey Armstrong descended upon him in the League rooms, two days before the date.
"Why don't you answer your bid for the reception to Miss Van Deusen, Jack?" he asked bluntly, as he seated himself in the chair nearest the chairman's private desk. "Can't you lay aside your prejudice long enough for that?"
"Well, what do you think?" replied Jack. "The League refused to endorse her, you know."
"Under you, yes," retorted Bailey with the frankness of an old friend. "But isn't it about time the League came around and did the square thing? You're putting the League in a bad light, Jack; really you are. I thought you had more sense. And, I tell you, Miss Van Deusen is going to give this town a waking up, such as will make you want to enlist under her banner—quick. Come, be decent, now."
"If you think it will be best for the League," began Allingham.
"Yes. It'll be better for the League—and best for you," said Bailey. "Hurry up now and write your acceptance, and then come."
It was late when he arrived, and the rooms were closely crowded with guests, so that he was hurried past the receiving party and left in his place in the line. He had just a formal greeting for Gertrude and at the dinner was seated where he could only note her beauty and brilliancy from afar. But the effect was John Allingham's first eye-opener in the development of the modern woman. Brought up as he had been, by a narrow jealous mother, kept close at his books, living at home, even during his college days, he had never before come under the direct influence of the women who are becoming an educative, progressive power in the world of today; and he began to wonder for the first time in his life, if a woman might not be a strong force in public reforms and still retain her refinement of spirit and her home-loving, home-keeping qualities.
He recalled how lovely Gertrude Van Deusen used to look as a girl of eighteen, when he had seen her at public gatherings with her distinguished father. But here tonight, she was even more beautiful; her expression was sweeter and more confident; the fine lines of her figure suggested power, and also repose. She had the same rich color, the same lovely curves, the same joyous health; but she had, too, a wiser and a far finer face.
"And yet," he told himself, "all my study and travel and observation tells me a woman's natural position in society is in a safely guarded home; and the evil consequences of meddling with this position must show themselves, sooner or later. Humanity is of one general quality everywhere,—and that not so high as she apparently believes. Changes in social ideals are more or less dangerous and indicate decadence, often, rather than advance. Yet the atmosphere tonight is charged with joyous triumph. Let us see what she is going to say."
For amidst deafening applause, the new mayor had begun to speak to the assemblage around her.