Senator Grayson bowed and beamed. He shifted in uneasy gratification from one foot to the other, and a rosier red showed in his round face.
“I did not think that you young ladies noticed us old politicians——”
“Every one should be given the benefit of a doubt. Of course, in our silly lives there is not very much chance to know about anything really worth while, but when a thing is really great even we cannot help hearing about it. Your last speech—the broad, far-reaching views——”
The senator stood in agreeable embarrassment.
“I read it,” Miriam continued. “I could not go to sleep, because I wanted to finish it. Of course, I could not understand all, but I was entranced. Even I could feel the force and eloquence. I have heard of nothing else.”
“Really?” cried the enchanted statesman. “Do you know I thought it had fallen flat? You are good to tell me. These side-lights are of the utmost value, and, indeed, I esteem your opinion. Would you let me get out a cup of tea? And—and—Mrs. Grayson was only saying the other day that she wanted to ask you to come to Washington for a visit this winter.”
As the senator stumbled away, Miss Whiting felt a light touch at her elbow.
“In your most popular and successful manner, Miriam,” said a slight, slim woman, whom she found standing beside her.
“He’s a dear, if he is an old goose,” said Miriam, defiantly. “And, of course, any shading would be lost on him.”
“I know,” continued the other, the sharp brown eyes in her lean brown face regarding the girl critically. “There are degrees of flattery even in your flattering. You have reduced it—or elevated it—to the proud position of an exact science.”