“And you come in to see me again, young man—I want to talk to you some time when there are no women around. You’re in Congress. By Geeminy, I want to know why we’ve got no army while twenty million trained soldiers are fighting for the mastery of the world across the water. Just count me in on the fight, will you? By the eternal, I’d like to meet the traitor who’ll try to block your bill—”
“I’ve important business with Mr. Vassar,” Virginia broke in. “Excuse us now, children—”
“That’s the way a suffragette talks to her old daddy, Vassar—“ Holland cried. “I warn you against their wiles. Don’t let her bamboozle you. I’m lame, but I’m going to vote against ’em, if I have to crawl to the polls election day—so help me God!”
Mrs. Holland beamed her good night with a gentle inclination of her silver-crowned head.
“He barks very loudly, Mr. Vassar,” she called, “but he never bites—”
Virginia led her guest upstairs into the quiet library in the front of the house.
Zonia and Billy were chattering in the parlor.
She pointed to a heavy armchair and sat down opposite, the oak table between them.
“Now, Mr. Congressman, what is it—peace or war?”
There was a ring of subtle defiance in her tones that both angered and charmed her opponent. He had met many beautiful women before. For the first time he had met one who commanded both his intellect and his consciousness of sex. The sensation was painful. He resented it. His ideals of life asked of women submission, tenderness, trust. Here sat before him the most charming, the most fascinatingly feminine woman he had ever met who refused to accept his opinions and had evidently determined to bend his mind and will to hers. To think of yielding was the height of absurdity. And yet he must meet her as his intellectual equal. He could meet her on no other ground. Her whole being said, “Come, let’s reason together.” He had no desire to reason. He only wished to tell her the truth about the impression she had made on him. He smiled to recall it. He had a perfectly foolish—an almost resistless—impulse to leap on the speaker’s stand, take her in his arms, kiss her and whisper: