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?"
He laughed so hilariously that she felt uncomfortable, which he
observed.
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