Mrs. Estell had put her hand on his shoulder. She looked at me with a smile, but the Senator glanced up to meet an expression of reproof.
"Provoke him into a fight?" she said.
"Figuratively, you understand. I wouldn't provoke him except figuratively. But I don't see why my footsteps are to be constantly dogged by that red wolf. Why doesn't he come out in his paper and give me a chance? What are you going to do?" She had stepped upon a chair and was taking down the foils. "Belford, I reckon you'll have to defend yourself. I won't fight; I'm a noncombatant."
I fenced with her, having had some little experience, but she was too quick and too skillful for me. The Senator laughed, and his face was aglow with pride to see her drive me into a corner, where I was willing enough to surrender.
"He isn't strong enough yet," she said, in excuse of my defeat.
"Oh, yes, he is," the Senator cried. "He's as strong as a deck hand, but he hasn't the skill. Just feel of that girl's arm, Belford. Don't be afraid of her—she won't hurt you."
I put my hand on her arm, so round and firm, so warm through the gauze sleeve she wore; and I thought it well for me that neither the father nor the daughter observed my agitation.
A negro came to tell the Senator that a Mr. Spencer wanted to speak to him at the gate. "Politics," said the law maker, as he took up his hat. "And that fellow wouldn't get off his horse to meet the President. Stay right where you are till I come back, Belford. I want to have a talk with you—on business."
He went out and Mrs. Estell sat down in his armchair. Her face was flushed and her eyes were a delight to behold.
"I'll be glad when this miserable campaign is over," she said. "It upsets everything, spoils our evenings, and bores everybody that comes to the house."