"It took me some time to understand it," she said. "I am not quite sure that I understand it quite thoroughly even now. It is a little puzzling, or, perhaps, I am dull of comprehension. At all events, Richard has talked to me a great deal. It is plainly my duty to be agreeable and hospitable to the people he wishes to please and bring in contact with each other." "And those people?" asked Agnes. "They are political men: they are members of committees, members of the House, members of the Senate; and their only claim to existence in our eyes is that they are either in favor of or opposed to a certain bill not indirectly connected with the welfare of the owners of Westoria lands." "Bertha," said Agnes, quickly, "you are not yourself." "Thank you," was the response, "that is always satisfactory, but the compliment would be more definite if you told me who I happened to be. But I can tell you that I am that glittering being, the female lobbyist. I used to wonder last winter if I was not on the verge of it; but now I know. I wonder if they all begin as innocently as I did, and find the descent--isn't it a descent?--as easy and natural. I feel queer, but not exactly disreputable. It is merely a matter of being a dutiful wife and smiling upon one set of men instead of another. Still, I am slightly uncertain as to just how disreputable I am. I was beginning to be quite reconciled to my atmosphere until I saw Colonel Tredennis, and I confess he unsettled my mind and embarrassed me a little in my decision." "You have seen him already?" "Accidentally, yes. He did not know I had returned, and came to see Richard. He is quite intimate with Richard now. He entered the parlor and found me there. I do not think he was glad to see me. I left him very soon." She drew off her glove, and smoothed it out upon her knee, with a thin and fragile little hand upon which the rings hung loosely. Agnes bent forward and involuntarily laid her own hand upon it. "Dear," she said. Bertha hurriedly lifted her eyes. "What I wish to say," she said, "was that the week after next we give a little dinner to Senator Blundel, and I wanted to be sure I might count on you. If you are there--and Colonel Tredennis--you will give it an unprofessional aspect, which is what we want. But perhaps you will refuse to come?" "Bertha," said Mrs. Sylvestre, "I will be with you at any time--at all times--you wish for or need me." "Yes," said Bertha, reflecting upon her a moment, "I think you would." She got up and kissed her lightly and without effusion, and then Agnes rose, too, and they stood together. "You were always good," Bertha said. "I think life has made you better instead of worse. It is not so always. Things are so different--everything seems to depend upon circumstances. What is good in me would be far enough from your standards to be called wickedness."