“Your anxiety, Colonel, and Miss Berkeley’s doesn’t bespeak great confidence in me.”
Olivia blushed and protested more earnestly.
“Not so, not so, sir,” cried the Colonel. “We have every confidence in you, but my boy, you had better take a look at Cicero’s orations against Catiline—and read over to-night Sheridan’s speeches—and Hayne against Webster.”
Pembroke threw himself back in his chair, and his laugh was so boyish and hearty, that Olivia was startled into joining in it.
“This is fearful,” said Olivia, bringing her pretty brows together sternly. “This is unpardonable levity. At a time like this, it is dreadful for us to stand so in awe of your self-love. Really now, we know that you are eloquence and cleverness itself, but it isn’t safe,” she continued, with an air of infinite experience, “to trust anything to chance.”
“Come down to the House to-morrow and encourage me,” replied Pembroke good humoredly, “and keep up Miles’ spirits when I begin to flounder.”
The evening was very jolly, like those old ones in Paris and in Virginia. Pembroke at last rose to go, and in parting, the Colonel clapped him on the back, while Olivia held his hand and pressed it so warmly that Pembroke’s dark face colored with pleasure, as she said:
“Now, I know I am offending you—but you can’t imagine how frightened I am. You may come out all right—but the suspense will be dreadful—” She was laughing, too, but Pembroke saw under her badinage a powerful interest in his success. He went away elated. “At least she will see that I was worthy of more consideration than she gave me,” he thought—a common reflection to men who have been refused.
Next day the floor of the House was crowded and the galleries packed. Administration and anti-administration people were interested. Society turned out in force to hear the revelations about the late Russian Minister—the private and diplomatic galleries were filled. The Senate was not in session, and many Senators were on the floor.
After the morning hour, and the droning through of some unimportant business, the leader of the majority rose, and demanded the consideration of the resolution of inquiry relating to the recall of the Russian Minister from this country. At that a hush fell upon the crowd. The leader of the opposition rose to reply. He stated briefly that it was a matter concerning the Foreign Affairs Committee, and a member of one of the sub-committees had sole charge of it owing to the illness of the chairman. Another member then rose, and sarcastically referring to the fact that the gentleman referred to could scarcely be supposed to entertain friendly feelings toward the representative of the only foreign government which showed the slightest sympathy toward the Union in the Civil War, demanded to know by what right had the Russian Minister’s position in Washington been made untenable—and that too, at the time of the visit of a member of the Czar’s family—and was this the return the United States Government made for the Czar’s extreme friendliness? Then Pembroke stood up in his place, at a considerable distance from the Speaker. This gave him a great advantage, for it showed the fine resonant quality of his voice, clear and quite free from rant and harshness. Olivia Berkeley, who watched him from the front row in the gallery, saw that he was pale, but perfectly self-possessed. As he caught her eye, in rising, he smiled at her.