“But,” she exclaimed, “but Cousin Ephraim is postmaster of Brampton.”
Mr. Sutton started violently, and that part of his face not hidden by his whiskers seemed to pale, and Mr. Worthington, usually self-possessed, took a step forward and seized him by the arm.
“What does this mean, Sutton?” he said.
Mr. Sutton pulled himself together, and glared at Cynthia.
“I think you are mistaken,” said he, “the congressman of the district usually arranges these matters, and the appointment will be sent to Mr. Wheelock to-morrow.”
“But Cousin Ephraim already has the appointment,” said Cynthia; “it was sent to him this afternoon, and he is up in his room now writing to thank the President for it.”
“What in the world's the matter?” cried Mrs. Duncan, in astonishment.
Cynthia's simple announcement had indeed caused something of a panic among the gentlemen present. Mr. Duncan had jumped up from his seat beside the door, and Mr. Worthington, his face anything but impassive, tightened his hold on the congressman's arm.
“Good God, Sutton!” he exclaimed, “can this be true?”
As for Cynthia, she was no less astonished than Mrs. Duncan by the fact that these rich and powerful gentlemen were so excited over a little thing like the postmastership of Brampton. But Mr. Sutton laughed; it was not hearty, but still it might have passed muster for a laugh.