"There _are_ talkers, you know," suggested the Senator, "who would make a good listener of a man without the assistance of the gods." "Do you mean the Miss Stapleton with the eyelashes?" inquired Bertha, blandly. "Oh, come now," was the response. "I think you know I don't mean the Miss Stapleton with the eyelashes. If I did, it would be more economical to make the remark to her." "Ah!" said Bertha, blandly again. "You mean me? I hoped so. Thank you very much. And I am glad you said it before Colonel Tredennis, because it may increase his confidence in me, which is not great. I am always glad when any one pays me a compliment in his presence." "Does he never pay you compliments himself?" asked Planefield. Bertha gave Tredennis a bright, full glance. "Did you ever pay me a compliment?" she said. "Will you ever pay me a compliment--if I should chance to deserve one?" "Yes," he answered, his face unsmiling, his voice inflexible. "May I begin now? You always deserve them. My only reason for failing to pay them is because I am not equal to inventing such as would be worthy of you. Your eyes are like stars--your dress is the prettiest in the room--every man present is your slave and every woman pales before you--the President is going home now only because you have ceased to smile upon him." The color on Bertha's cheek faded a little, but her smile did not. She checked him with a gesture. "Thank you," she said, "that will do! You are even better than Senator Planefield. My eyes are like stars--my dress is perfection! I myself am as brilliant as--as the chandelier! Really, there seems nothing left for me to do but to follow the President, who, as you said, has been good enough to take his leave and give us permission to retire." And she rose from her chair. She made her adieus to Planefield, who bestowed upon Tredennis a sidelong scowl, thinking that it was he who was taking her away. It consoled him but little that she gave him her hand--in a most gracious farewell. He had been enjoying himself as he did not often enjoy himself, and the sight of the colonel's unresponsive countenance filled him with silent rage. It happened that it was not the first time, or even the second, that this gentleman had presented himself inopportunely. "The devil take his grim airs!" was his cordial mental exclamation. "What does he mean by them, and what is he always turning up for when no one wants to see him?"