"But if you don't stand with him, you're in with the rabble—the rabble," she declared, indignantly. "He says you are! Stewart, I know you won't insult his wisdom and deny my prayer to you! Only a few moments ago I was ready——But I cannot say those words to you unless——You understand!"
This interview had been permitted only because Senator Corson's attention had been absorbed by Mrs. Stanton's hysterical questions. But the lady's fears did not affect her eyesight. She had noted Lana's departure and she caught a glimpse of the mayor when he strode past the ballroom door with his hat in his hand.
"Yes, I'll be calm, Senator! I'm sure that we'll be perfectly protected. Lana followed the mayor just now, and I suppose she is insisting on a double detail of police."
The Senator promptly followed, too, to find out more exactly what Lana was insisting on.
"Haven't you joined your rabble yet, Morrison?" Corson queried, insolently, when he came upon the two.
"I'm going, sir—going right along!"
Lana set her hands together, the fingers interlaced so tightly that the flesh was as white as her cheeks. "'Your rabble!' Stewart! Oh! Oh!" In spite of her thinly veiled threat of a few moments ago, there was piteous protest in her face and voice.
"According to suggestions from all quarters, I don't seem to fit any other kind of society just now," he replied, ruefully. He marched out into the night.
"Call my car," Senator Corson directed a servant.
In the reception-hall he encountered Silas Daunt, "Slip on your hat and coat. Come along with me to the State House. I'll show you how practical politics can settle a rumpus, after a visionary has tumbled down on his job!"