Until that afternoon I had not seen the secretary for some time, for he had been kept unusually busy.  Those eminently sensible talks to the mill workers had been well received, and were to be followed by others along the same line.  He had done even more:  he had induced the owners to recognize the men’s Union, and all future complaints and demands were to be submitted to arbitration.  Inglesby had undoubtedly gained ground enormously by that move.  Hunter had done well.  And yet—­catching that sharp-toothed smile, I felt my faith in him for the first time shaken by one of those unaccountable uprushes of intuition which perplex and disturb.

I knew, too, that Laurence had had several long and serious conferences with Eustis, and I could well imagine the arguments he had brought to bear, the rousing of a sense of duty, and of state pride.

Eustis was obstinate.  He had many interests.  He was a very, very busy man.  He didn’t want to be a Senator; he wanted to be let alone to attend to his own business in his own way.  But, insisted Laurence, when a thing must be done, and you can do it in a manner which benefits all and injures none; when your own people ask you to do it for them, isn’t that your business?

A cold damning resume of Inglesby’s entire career made Eustis hesitate.  A vivid picture of what the state might expect at Inglesby’s hands roused him to just anger.  Such as this fellow represent Carolina?  Never!  When Inglesby’s name should be put up, Eustis unwillingly agreed to oppose him.

And here was Inglesby, in my garden, making himself agreeable to Eustis’s daughter!  He was so plainly desirous to please her, that it troubled me, although it made his secretary smile.

The Mary Virginia walking beside Inglesby was not the Mary Virginia we knew:  this was the regal one, the great beauty.  Her whole manner was subtly charged with a sort of arrogant hauteur; her fairness itself changed, tinged with pride as with an inward fire, until she glowed with a cold, jewel-like brightness, hard and clear.  Her very skirts rustled pridefully.  Her glance at the man beside her was insulting in its disdainful indifference.

What would have saddened a nobler spirit enchanted Inglesby.  He was dazzled by her.  Her interest in what he was saying was coolly impersonal, the fixed habit of trained politeness.  He could even surmise that she was mentally yawning behind her hand.  When she looked at him her eyes under her level brows held a certain scornfulness.  And this, too, delighted him.  He groveled to it.  His red face glowed with pleasure; he swelled with a pride very different from Mary Virginia’s.  I thought he had an upholstered look in his glossy clothes, reminding me unpleasantly of horsehair furniture.

“He looks like a day coach in July,” growled the Butterfly Man in my ear, disgustedly.

Inglesby at this moment perceived Hunter and beamed upon him, as well he might!  Who but this priceless secretary had pulled the strings which set him beside this glorious creature, in the Parish House garden?  He turned to the girl, with heavy jauntiness: