“What the devil’s come over me!” he muttered, astonished at the persistent grin his mirror reflected. “At this rate I can see my finish—I’ll be the secretary of the Suffragette Campaign Committee before the week’s over—bah!”
Old Peter, the black butler, ushered him into the parlor with a stately bow.
“Miss Virginia be right down, sah. She say she des finishin’ her breakfus’—yassah!”
Vassar seated himself with a sense of triumph. She must have written that note in bed. He flattered himself someone else had not slept well. He hoped not.
Her greeting was gracious, but strictly business-like—he thought a little too business-like to be entirely convincing.
She motioned him to resume his seat and drew one for herself close beside. She sat down in a quiet determined manner that forbade sentimental reflections and began without preliminaries.
“We lost track of our subject last night, Mr. Vassar, in an absurd personal discussion. I’ve asked you to come back this morning to make a determined effort to win you for our cause—”
She paused, leaned forward and smiled persuasively.
“We need you. Your influence over the foreign-born population in New York would be enormous. I see by this morning’s paper an enthusiastic account of your work among the children. You are leading a renaissance of American patriotism. Good! So am I—a renaissance of the principles of the Declaration of Independence. ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal! that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. That to secure those rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.’ Come now, I appeal to your sense of justice. What right have you to govern me without my consent? Am I not created your equal?”
Her eloquence was all but resistless. The word of surrender was on his lips, when the voice of an honest manhood spoke within.