When he reached the house, with its many verandas, embowered in fine and vigorous elm-trees, the front door was wide open, and looking through the low, wide hall, he could see the garden beyond. There, under a tall lilac hedge, sat Annette in a rustic chair, sewing. On a rustic table before her the children had their books, and took turns reading aloud to her. As always, she was simply but freshly and becomingly dressed, and as the green light fell upon her fair hair and her pensive, pretty face, she made a charming picture for any man to contemplate. Senator Bicknell had an æsthetic soul as well as an honest heart, and the pretty scene appealed to him. He walked through the hall, into the trim garden, and, hat in hand, introduced himself to Annette.
She rose at once, smiling and blushing, and made him hospitably welcome. She knew nothing of his expected arrival, which convinced Senator Bicknell that there had been some misunderstanding concerning his letter. But the Senator was so pleased with his first impressions that he accepted Annette’s invitation to remain and share their one-o’clock dinner—an invitation given with palpitations, but so promptly and gracefully accepted that Annette was delighted at her own courage in proposing it. The Senator, seated on a rustic settee, and admiring the aspect of things in the house and garden, as well as the mistress and her children, thought himself in luck. He expressed great regret at not seeing Crane, but frankly declared himself very well satisfied with things as they were.
Emboldened by her success in entertaining the Senator, Annette proposed that she should notify the leading citizens, and invite them to call at five o’clock to pay their respects to him. Senator Bicknell good-humouredly assented—it would be of advantage to Crane, he thought, mistakenly enough—and it was worth while obliging a subordinate if that subordinate had a wife as pleasing as Mrs. Crane.
By the time this was settled it was one o’clock, and the Senator found himself seated at Annette’s dainty table, with the two children, and being waited on by Annette’s one servant, a neat, hard-featured creature, who knew how to cook.
The Senator was worth millions, had a French chef, and a chronic dyspepsia, but he spoke truly when he told Annette he had not enjoyed a dinner so much in years as the one she gave him. It was very simple, but good, and well served. The children never opened their mouths except when spoken to. Annette was surprised, as at Constance Maitland’s dinner, to find herself altogether at ease, and was conscious that she was making an agreeable impression every moment of the time. To be appreciated gives the most timid confidence; and it was perfectly evident that this trained man of the world appreciated this woman, as sweet and natural as the wild roses that grew in the roadside hedges. They found much to talk about, and Thorndyke was mentioned, at which Annette overflowed in praises of him, to which Senator Bicknell agreed.
He was much amused by Annette’s impromptu plan of having a reception for him that afternoon, and accused her of aspiring to be a second Madame Roland, but laughingly agreed with her when Annette assured him that it would be worth several votes to Crane in the coming senatorial contest.
After dinner he was shown to a cool and spotless chamber, where he had a very refreshing nap and a bath. At five o’clock he was summoned below. Annette awaited him in the modest drawing-room. She wore a pretty muslin gown, and looked as fresh as a dewdrop. With the assistance of the neighbours, the lower floor was dressed with flowers, and simple refreshments were served upon tables in the large and well-kept garden.
Annette, taking her stand at the door of the drawing-room with the Senator, received with dignity and grace the people who came pouring in—the Judge of the County Court, the professional men in the town, the principal of the Circleville High School—all accompanied by their ladies, wearing their best silk gowns and very tight kid gloves. Senator Bicknell was affability itself. He was an amiable man, and Annette Crane’s virtues and charms were such as appeal peculiarly to men, so that most of them wished to oblige her. He was secretly amused at the courage and capability she had shown in organising a political reception for him on such short notice, and determined to help her through with it. By way of showing his goodwill, he spoke with enthusiasm of Crane to many persons, and said that he should be pleased if Crane might be his colleague after the first of January.
At seven o’clock he was obliged to take his train. Before he stepped into the carriage of the Judge, who had asked the honour of driving him to the station, Senator Bicknell expressed to Annette the most sincere gratitude and pleasure at his visit.
“Tell Mr. Crane,” he whispered to her, “that with a wife who has such masterly capacity for political management as you, my dear Mrs. Crane, he may expect any sort of promotion. If our State is honoured by being awarded the Vice-presidential nomination, I am afraid no one else will be heard of except Mr. Crane, if you take the affair in charge.”