MORLEY VERNON came out of the dining-room in a temper far different from that he had worn when he went in. His breakfast, after so many vicissitudes, was sure to be a failure, though John, striving against fate, had tried to restore the repast to its original excellence by replacing each dish with a fresh one. He affected a heroic cheerfulness, too, but the cheer was hollow, for his experience of men and of breakfasts must have taught him that such disasters can never be repaired.

Vernon, however, had heavier things on his mind. In his new position as knight-errant of Illinois womankind, he had looked forward to this day as the one of triumph; now, at its beginning, he found himself with two offended women on his hands, and two hopelessly irreconcilable mistresses to serve. He began to see that the lot of a constructive statesman is trying; he would never criticize leaders again.

The lobby of the hotel was filling rapidly, and men with their hair still damp from the morning combing were passing into the breakfast room with newspapers in their hands. In the center of the lobby, however, he saw a group of senators, and out of the middle of the group rose a dark bonnet; the flowers on the bonnet bobbed now and then decisively. Around it were clustered other bonnets, but they were motionless, and, as it were, subordinate.

“Can you tell me who that is?” asked Brooks of Alexander, jerking his thumb at the group.

“Yes,” said Vernon, “that’s General Hodge-Lathrop. She’s on her way to the front to assume command.”

“Oh!” said Brooks. “I saw something in the papers—” And he went away, reading as he walked.

Vernon looked everywhere for Miss Greene, but he could not find her. The porter at the Capitol Avenue entrance told him that she had driven over to the State House a few minutes before. Vernon was seized by an impulse to follow, but he remembered Amelia. He could not let matters go on thus between them. If only Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop were not in command; if he could get Amelia away from her for a while, if he could see her alone, he felt that explanations would be possible.

He looked at his watch; it was half-past nine; the Senate would convene at ten; the resolution would not be reached before half-past ten at any rate; and so he determined to brave Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop again. He turned back into the lobby; there she was, hobnobbing with men; she did not pass from group to group, after the manner of any other lobbyist, but by some coercion he wished he might be master of, she drew them unerringly to her side. Now she had Braidwood, the leader of the House, and chairman of the steering committee, and Porter, the leader of the Senate. She appeared to be giving them instructions.

She had set her committee on less important game; the ladies were scattered over the rotunda, each talking to a little set of men. When Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop saw Vernon coming, she turned from Braidwood and Porter and stood awaiting him. Strangely enough Braidwood and Porter stayed where they were, as if she had put them there. And Vernon reflected that he had never known them, as doubtless no one else had ever known them, to do such a thing as that before.

“Where’s Amelia?” he asked before she could speak.

“I have sent her upstairs,” said Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop, “poor child!”

Vernon wondered why “poor child.”

“It’s really too bad,” Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop continued.

“What is too bad?” demanded Vernon. He had grown sulky.

Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop looked at him pityingly.

“Morley,” she said in a vast solemn tone that came slowly up from her great stays, “I can make allowances, of course. I know something of the nature of man; I will admit that that Greene woman is remarkably handsome, and of her cleverness there can be no doubt. I don’t altogether blame you.”

She paused that Vernon might comprehend to the fullest her marvelous magnanimity.

“But at the same time it has been hard on poor little Amelia. I saw no other way than to bring her down. You must go to her at once.”

She turned toward Braidwood and Porter, still standing where she had left them.

“When you have done, I’ll see you with reference to this miserable resolution; but that can wait till we are at the Capitol. This other matter comes first, of course.”

She smiled with a fat sweetness.

“And Morley,” she said, “order two carriages for us at ten o’clock. You may drive to the Capitol with us.”

And she went away.

Vernon ordered the carriages, and in turning the whole matter over in his mind he came to the conclusion that he must deal with these complications one at a time; Miss Greene, as events now had shaped themselves, would have to wait until he got over to the State House.