President Anders would be willing to do Senator Peabody a favor some day.

Sometimes Cora Spangler shuddered at the thought of what would become of her if she should make some slip, some fatal error, and be discovered to her friends as a betrayer of confidences for money.  A secret agent of Standard Steel!  What a newspaper story she would make—­“Society Favorite a Paid Spy”; “Woman Lobbyist Flees Capital.”  The sensational headlines flitted through her mind.  Then she would grit her teeth and dig her finger nails into her palms.  She had to have money to carry on the life she loved so well.  She must continue as she had begun.  After all, she reasoned, nothing definite could ever be proved regarding the past.  Let the future care for itself.  She might marry again and free herself from this mode of life—­who knows?

So reasoned Cora Spangler for the hundredth time during the last two years as she sat in her boudoir at her home.  She had spent part of the day with Carolina and Hope Langdon and in the evening had attended the musicale at their house.  But she had been forced to leave early owing to a severe headache.  Now, after an hour or two of rest, she felt better and was about to retire.  Suddenly the telephone bell rang at a writing-table near a window.  She had two telephones, one in the lower hall and one in her boudoir—­to save walking downstairs unnecessarily, she explained to her woman friends.  But the number of this upstairs telephone was not in the public book.  It had a private number, known to but two people except herself.

Taking down the receiver, she asked in low voice, “Hello!  Who is it?”

“Mr. Wall.”

It was the name Senator Peabody used in telephone conversation with her.

“Yes, Congressman!” she responded.

She always said, “Yes, Congressman,” in replying to “Mr. Wall,” a prearranged manner of indicating that he was talking to the desired person.

“I will need your services to-morrow,” Senator Peabody said, “on a very important matter, I am afraid.  Decline any engagements and hold yourself in readiness.”

“Yes.”

“I may send my friend S. to explain things at 10:30 in the morning.  If he does not arrive at that time, telephone me at 10:35 sharp.  You know where.  Understand?  I have put off going to Philadelphia to-night.”

“Yes.”

“That is all; good-by.”

“Something very important,” she murmured nervously as she turned from the desk.

“I don’t like his tone of voice; sounds strained and worried—­something unusual for the cold, flinty gentleman from Pennsylvania.  And his ‘friend S.,’ of course, means Stevens!  Great heavens! then Stevens must now have knowledge of my—­my—­business!”

She calmed herself and straightened a dainty, slender finger against her cheek.

“It must be something about that naval base bill, I’m sure.  That’s been worrying Peabody all session,” she mused as she pressed a button to summon her maid.