The bell rang, and she was a little startled at the fright that struck her heart. She did not analyze it. In reality—pride forbade her to admit it—she feared it was a call of some of Harry's friends: some languid, assured Southern ladies, perilously gowned, with veiled disdain for this interloping Northerner and her strong mind. Especially was there one from New Orleans, tall and dark—
But it was no caller. It was simply some one named Stillings to see Mr. Cresswell. She went down to see him—he might be a constituent—and found a smirky brown man, very apologetic.
"You don't know me—does you, Mrs. Cresswell?" said Stillings. He knew when it was diplomatic to forget his grammar and assume his dialect.
"Why—no."
"You remember I worked for Mr. Harry and served you-all lunch one day."
"Oh, yes—why, yes! I remember now very well."
"Well, I wants to see Mr. Harry very much; could I wait in the back hall?"
Mary started to have him wait in the front hall, but she thought better of it and had him shown back. Less than an hour later her husband entered and she went quickly to him. He looked worn and white and tired, but he laughed her concern lightly off.
"I'll be in earlier tonight," he declared.
"Is the Congressional business very heavy?"