"Is the meeting to be public?" Saunders asked. "Because if it is I should like to be present."
He saw her start suddenly. She looked down at the pavement for a moment; then she gave him a glance full of perturbation, laying her hand on his arm impulsively. "Jarvis—oh, I didn't mean to call you that!" The color ran in a flood to her face. "It was a slip of the tongue. I do call you that in my thoughts, for—for so many at home do, you know."
"I should like nothing better than to have you do it always," he heard himself saying; but the sight of her clouded face checked the words which packed upon his utterance.
"Oh, I could never be as bold as that," she put in quickly. "You said you would like to go to the meeting. It is public, but I am going to ask you a favor, and I never was so much in earnest in my life. Do you know, I think I could get through that speech better if not a soul was in the audience that I ever saw before. I would rather have you there than any one else, for I know you would be sympathetic, but I want to face it absolutely alone. I can't tell why I feel so, but it is a fact."
"I can understand it," Saunders answered. "I had to make a speech at a convention of bankers once, and the fact that I was a total stranger to them all made the task easier. But when are you going back home?"
"To-morrow at twelve," she said.
"And this evening?" he inquired.
"There is to be a reception given us at the Governor's mansion." Dolly shrugged her shoulders. "Somebody is to take us all from the hotel in a bunch. I have a new dress for it. That will be another experience, but, as it comes after my speech, I am not even thinking of it."
"Then I'll see you at the train in the morning," Saunders said. "I want to get the news of your speech. I am confident that you will acquit yourself beautifully. You can't fail. It isn't in you."
They had reached the steps of the Capitol. A number of women and men were entering, and Dolly turned to join them.