VERNON went down to breakfast the next morning wearing the new summer clothes his tailor had sent to him from Chicago the day before. He had a flower in his buttonhole; a red rose, indeed, showing his colors for the final triumphant day.

The rotunda of the hotel, swept of the litter of the night before, was clean and cool, and the morning air of a perfect day came in refreshingly at the open doors. The farmer members, confirmed in the habit of early rising, were already sauntering aimlessly about, but otherwise statesmen still slumbered, tired out by their labors of the night before.
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Vernon, in the nervous excitement which arouses one at the dawn of any day that is to be big with events, had risen earlier than was his wont. He hastened into the dining-room, and there, at the first table his eye alighted on, sat Maria Burley Greene. She saw him at once, for she faced the door, and she greeted him with a brilliant smile. With springing step he rushed toward her, both hands extended in his eagerness. She half rose to take them; their greeting silenced the early breakfasters for an instant. Then he sat down opposite her and leaned over with a radiant face as near to her as might be, considering the width of table-cloth and the breakfast things between.

“And so you’re here at last!” he exclaimed.

His eyes quickly took in her toilet; remarkably fresh it was, though it had been made on the Springfield sleeper. It gave none of those evidences of being but the late flowering of a toilet that had been made the night before, as do the toilets of some ladies under similar circumstances. She wore this morning a suit of brown, tailored faultlessly to every flat seam, and a little turban to match it. Beside her plate lay her veil, her gloves, and a brass tagged key. And her face, clear and rosy in its rich beauty, was good to look upon. The waiter had just brought her strawberries.

“Send John to me,” said Vernon to the waiter. “I’ll take my breakfast here. May I?” He lifted his eyes to Miss Greene’s.

“Surely,” said she, “we’ll have much to discuss.”

“And so you’re here again at last,” repeated Vernon, as if he had not already made the same observation. He laid, this time, perhaps a little more stress on the “at last.” She must have noted that fact, for she blushed, red as the strawberries she began to turn over with a critically poised fork.

“And did you come down alone?” Vernon went on.

“No, not exactly,” said Miss Greene. “Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop, and, I believe, several—”

“Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop!”

“I think,” said Miss Greene, “that she sits somewhere behind.&............