nd who else?"

"Choose your own company."

"I know no one."

"Oh yes; here is French, not quite sound on the tariff, but good for
what we want just now. Then we can get Mr. Gore; he has his little
hatchet to grind too, and will be glad to help grind ours. We only want
two or three more, and I will have an extra man or so to fill up."

"Do ask the Speaker. I want to know him."

"I will, and Carrington, and my Pennsylvania Senator. That will do
nobly. Remember, Welckley's, Saturday at seven."

Meanwhile Sybil had been at the piano, and when she had sung for a time,
Orsini was induced to take her place, and show that it was possible
to sing without injury to one's beauty. Baron Jacobi came in and found
fault with them both. Little Miss Dare--commonly known among her male
friends as little Daredevil--who was always absorbed in some flirtation
with a Secretary of Legation, came in, quite unaware that Popoff was
present, and retired with him into a corner, while Orsini and Jacobi
bullied poor Sybil, and fought with each other at the piano; everybody
was talking with very little reference to any reply, when at last Mrs.
Lee drove them all out of the room: "We are quiet people," said she,
"and we dine at half-past six."

Senator Ratcliffe had not failed to make his Sunday evening call upon
Mrs.

Lee. Perhaps it was not strictly correct to say that they had talked
books all the evening, but whatever the conversation was, it had
only confirmed Mr. Ratcliffe's admiration for Mrs. Lee, who, without
intending to do so, had acted a more dangerous part than if she had been
the most accomplished of coquettes. Nothing could be more fascinating
to the weary politician in his solitude than the repose of Mrs. Lee's
parlour, and when Sybil sang for him one or two simple airs--she
said they were foreign hymns, the Senator being, or being considered,
orthodox--Mr. Ratcliffe's heart yearned toward the charming girl quite
with the sensations of a father, or even of an elder brother.

His brother senators very soon began to remark that the Prairie Giant
had acquired a trick of looking up to the ladies' gallery. One day Mr.
Jonathan Andrews, the special correspondent of the New York Sidereal
System, a very friendly organ, approached Senator Schuyler Clinton with
a puzzled look on his face.

"Can you tell me," said he, "what has happened to Silas P. Ratcliffe?
Only a moment ago I was talking with him at his seat on a very important
su