They met unexpectedly at Senator Ruffin’s, where only time was given them to shake hands in a non-committal manner before Mrs. Ruffin sent them in to dinner together. If each had spoken the thoughts in the heart a perfect understanding would have brought peace and friendship at least, but no words were spoken from the heart. All of their conversational sparring was of the brain purely. They fenced with commonplaces for some little time, each on guard. Rutledge, without a thought of Doctor Martin or the negro quartette, formed all of his speeches for the ear of a woman who had mocked his love; while Elise talked only for the man who had written the article in the _Chicago American_. She saw the change in his manner, in his polite aloofness, his insincere, careless pleasantries. "It is delightfully kind of you, Miss Phillips, to come over and give Washington some of those thrills with which you have favoured Cleveland." "What is the answer?" asked Elise blankly. "My meaning is no riddle surely," said Rutledge. "The Cleveland newspaper reporters have taught us to believe that you are the centre of interest in that city and that, as one signing himself ’Q’ wrote in yesterday’s _Journal_,—something to the effect that you radiate a sort of three-syllable waves which make the younger men to thrill and the old beaux to take a new lease on life. When I read that, I could see a lot of small boys crowding around an electric machine, all wanting to get a touch of the current but fearful of being knocked endways." "Now diagnose the form of your dementia," said the girl. "You not only read but you _believe_ the statements of the penny-a-liners. Your case is hopeless." "I must read somewhat of such things—to know my craft. I must believe somewhat of them—to respect my craft." "Is either knowledge or respect necessary, Mr. Rutledge? The craft is admitted; but I had thought the purpose of all this craft was the penny-a-line,—not knowledge or truth—which are not only incidental but often unwelcome. Why read or believe the line after the cent has been paid?" "You are unmerciful to us, Miss Phillips. It is true every news item of interest has its money value for a newspaper man, but you must understand that we try to use them honestly and say no more than we feel—often far less than we feel." Rutledge’s manner was serious when he had finished; and Elise, feeling sure that the same incident was in his mind as in hers, had it on her tongue’s end to reply with spirit and point, when he continued lightly: "But that is shop. It is good of you to come over now and gradually accustom us to those Q-waves instead of giving us the sudden full current when Colonel Phillips rents the White House. You will not care if some few become immune before that time, for there will be no end of rash youths to get tangled up with the wires."