Arkwright assented cordially. The brandy was flowing through his veins and warming him; he forgot that he was hungry, and the kind, interested glances of those about him set him at his ease. It was a propitious start, he thought, a pleasant leave-taking for the senator and himself, full of good will and good wishes. He turned toward Stanton and waited until he had ceased speaking. “The papers have begun well, haven’t they?” he asked, eagerly. He had spoken in a low voice, almost in a whisper, but those about the table seemed to have heard him, for there was silence instantly and when he glanced up he saw the eyes of all turned upon him and he noticed on their faces the same smile he had seen there when he entered. “Yes,” Stanton answered constrainedly. “Yes, I--” he lowered his voice, but the silence still continued. Stanton had his eyes fixed on the table, but now he frowned and half rose from his chair. “I want to speak with you, Arkwright,” he said. “Suppose we go into the next room. I’ll be back in a moment,” he added, nodding to the others. But the man on his right removed his cigar from his lips and said in an undertone, “No, sit down, stay where you are;” and the elderly gentleman at Arkwright’s side laid his hand detainingly on his arm. “Oh, you won’t take Mr. Arkwright away from us, Stanton?” he asked, smiling. Stanton shrugged his shoulders and sat down again, and there was a moment’s pause. It was broken by the man in the overcoat, who laughed. “He’s paying you a compliment, Mr. Arkwright,” he said. He pointed with his cigar to the gentleman at Arkwright’s side. “I don’t understand,” Arkwright answered doubtfully. “It’s a compliment to your eloquence--he’s afraid to leave you alone with the senator. Livingstone’s been telling us that you are a better talker than Stanton.” Arkwright turned a troubled countenance toward the men about the table, and then toward Livingstone, but that young man had his eyes fixed gravely on the glasses before him and did not raise them. Arkwright felt a sudden, unreasonable fear of the circle of strong-featured, serene and confident men about him. They seemed to be making him the subject of a jest, to be enjoying something among themselves of which he was in ignorance, but which concerned him closely. He turned a white face toward Stanton. “You don’t mean,” he began piteously, “that--that you are not going? Is that it--tell me--is that what you wanted to say?” Stanton shifted in his chair and muttered some words between his lips, then turned toward Arkwright and spoke quite clearly and distinctly. “I am very sorry, Mr. Arkwright,” he said, “but I am afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. Reasons I cannot now explain have arisen which make my going impossible--quite impossible,” he added firmly--“not only now, but later,” he went on quickly, as Arkwright was about to interrupt him.