"I am scarcely sure myself yet," answered Richard, as he shook hands. "It only happened last night; but Bertha has been home a week. Is it possible you haven't seen her?" "I have not seen anybody lately," said Tredennis, "and I did not know that she had returned until I read her name in the list of those who would receive." "Oh, of course she will receive," said Richard. "And Planefield and I--you have met Senator Planefield?" "How do you do?" said Senator Planefield, without any special manifestation of delight. Tredennis bowed, and Richard went on airily, as they made their way in: "Planefield and I have been sent out to do duty, and our list extends from Capitol Hill to Georgetown Heights." "And he," said Senator Planefield, "professes to enjoy the prospect." "Why not?" said Richard. "It is a bright, bracing day, and there is something exhilarating in driving from house to house, to find one's self greeted at each by a roomful of charming women,--most of them pretty, some of them brilliant, all of them well dressed and in holiday spirits. It is delightful." "Do _you_ find it delightful?" inquired Planefield, turning with some abruptness to Tredennis. "I am obliged to own that I don't shine in society," answered Tredennis. He knew there was nothing to resent in the question, but he was conscious of resenting something in the man himself. His big, prosperous-looking body and darkly florid face, with its heavy, handsome outlines, and keen, bold eyes, had impressed him unpleasantly from the first, and on each occasion of their meeting the impression seemed to deepen. "Well, Amory shines," was his response, "and so does Mrs. Amory. We are to drop in and see her shine, as often as we happen to be in the neighborhood through the day." They had reached the threshold of the reception-room by this time, and Richard, catching the last words, turned and spoke. "Of course you will be there yourself in the course of the day," he said. "We shall possibly meet you--and, by-the-by, you will see Mrs. Sylvestre. She arrived two days ago." When they came out again Richard was in more buoyant spirits than before. The lighted rooms, the brilliant dresses, the many faces he knew or did not know, the very crush itself, had acted upon him like a fine wind. He issued forth into the light of day again, girded and eager for his day's work. "There is nothing like Washington," he announced, "and especially nothing like Washington at the beginning of the season. Just at the outset, when one is meeting people for the first time since their return, they actually have the air of being glad to see one, and a man has a delightful evanescent sense of being somehow positively popular." "Does it make _you_ feel popular?" demanded Planefield of Tredennis, in his unceremonious fashion. Tredennis presented to him an entirely immovable front. "How do _you_ find it?" he inquired. The man laughed. "Not as Amory does," he answered.