"Very much," was the quick answer. "I should be shocked and disappointed in you. I've never believed for a moment that you meant what you said. I thought you were only debating the question from the Southern side." "Tell me," Ned broke in, "does your father mean half he says about Lincoln and the South?" "Every word he says. My father is made of the stuff that kindles martyr fires. He will march to the stake for his principles when the time comes." "You admire that kind of man?" "Don't you?" "Yes. And for that reason I can't understand why you admire a trimmer and a time server." "You mean?" "The Rail-splitter in the White House." "But he's not!" Betty protested. "I can feel the hand of steel beneath his glove--wait and see." Ned laughed: "Let Ephraim alone, he's joined to his idols! As our old preacher used to say in Missouri. Your delusion is hopeless. It's well the President is safely married." Betty's eyes twinkled. Ned paused, blushed, fumbled in his pocket and drew out the card the President had given him to deliver. "I am ordered by the administration," he gravely continued, "to serve this document on the daughter of Senator Winter." Betty's eyes danced with amazement as she read the message in the handwriting of the Chief Magistrate. "He sent this to me?" [Illustration: "'Good-bye--Ned!' she breathed softly."] "Ordered me to serve it on you at once--my excuse for coming at this unseemly hour." "But why?" "I gave him a hint of your opinion of his Inaugural. I think it's a case of a drowning man grasping a straw." "Well, this is splendid!" she exclaimed. "You take it seriously?" "It's a great honor." "And are you going?" "I'd go to-night if it were possible--to-morrow sure----" She looked at the card curiously. "I've a strange presentiment that something wonderful will come of this meeting." "No doubt of it. When Senator Winter's daughter becomes the champion of the 'Slave Hound of Illinois' there'll be a sensation in the Capital gossip to say nothing of what may happen at home." "I'll risk what happens at home, Ned! My father has two great passions, the hatred of Slavery and the love of his frivolous daughter. I can twist him around my little finger----" She paused, snapped her finger and smiled up into his face sweetly: "Do you doubt it, sir?" "No," he answered with a frown, dropping his voice to low tender tones. "But would you mind telling me, Miss Betty, why you called me 'Mr. Ned' the other day when I introduced you to John?" The faintest tinge of red flashed in her cheeks: "I must have done it unconsciously." "Please don't do it again. It hurts. You've called me Ned too long to drop it now, don't you think?" "Yes." Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she took his hand in parting. "Good-bye--Ned!" she breathed softly. And then he did a foolish thing, but the impulse was resistless. He bent low, reverently kissed the tips of her fingers and fled without daring to look back. CHAPTER IV