She sighed in relief.
"Father will be coming back soon," she said. "You won't want to see him."
Haines arose.
"No, I won't want to see him. Give him this note. I'll have to come back while he's away to clear up some things. Good-by."
Haines bowed and hurried from the room through a side doorway just as
Senator Langdon came in through the main entrance.
"Bud! Bud!" he called, but the secretary did not halt.
Carolina Langdon stood with Haines' note in her hand, wondering at what she had done. She regretted having become entangled in the wars of men in Washington. She saw that the man's game was played too strongly, too furiously fast, for most women to enter, yet she rejoiced that the coveted fortune had not been lost. She was sorry that her means of saving it had not been less questionable. She saw that ambition and honesty, ambition and truth, with difficulty follow the same path.
Senator Langdon's face was unusually grave as he came to greet Carolina. Lines showed in his face that the daughter had never noticed before.
She saw Norton and Randolph, who had followed him, exchange significant glances—jubilant glances—and wondered what new development they had maneuvered.
"He's gone without a word," the Senator sighed. "Well, perhap's that's best."