cousin in the Congress, particularly one who looked like a gentleman even if he did represent a barbarous state, whose barbarous accent he also affected, if it was not, grim thought, his own.
“I was here before, in the comptroller’s office. That’s when I got to know Del Hay and, of course, Miss Sanford.” They exchanged condolences on Del’s death. “After he went off to Pretoria, I never saw him again. He was going to marry Miss Sanford…?” Day inserted a question in his voice.
“Yes. This month, I think. He was also going to join the President’s staff.”
“Poor… Mr. Hay,” said the young man, unexpectedly; and his pale blue eyes looked suddenly, directly, embarrassingly, into Blaise’s. With one hand, Blaise touched his own forehead, as if to deflect by this meaningless gesture that sharp disquieting gaze; and wondered why he should find Mr. Day disturbing. After all, the inference that Caroline did not care for Del was none of Blaise’s business. But Day had made him uneasy, which he did not like. He was also reminded, yet again, that although he was
Day said the expected things. Del dead so young; President dead so tragically; Mr. Hay devastated. “Even more so now,” said Blaise, wishing that he was as tall as Day, who was able to speak to him with such intimacy and warmth, and yet could look, whenever he chose, over Blaise’s head to see what new magnate had entered the room. But Blaise continued: “Mr. Hay’s oldest friend just died, Clarence King. You know, the geologist.”
“I didn’t know…”
“My sister tells me he died in Arizona a few weeks ago. So in six months poor Mr. Hay has lost his son, friend and president.”
“Well,” said Day, with sudden cold-bloodedness, “he hasn’t lost his job, has he? Funny that Roosevelt hasn’t replaced him. But then,” and the smile was boyish and engaging, “I’m a Democrat, and I carry a spear for Bryan, in the people’s name.”
“We’re crucifying them,” said Blaise, matching the other’s boyish coldness, “upon a cross of silver this time around.” Both men laughed.
“I’m Frederika Bingham.” A pale blond girl, with a languid manner, introduced herself. “I know who you are, of course, but Mamma thinks that you should know who I am.” She smiled at Blaise, a somewhat crooked smile that revealed curiously sharp incisors. She smelled of lilac-water. Day smelled of not quite clean broadcloth. Of all Blaise’s faculties, the sense of smell was the strongest and, in sexual matters, the most decisive. “I saw you at the Casino, at Newport,” he said.
“You will go far in politics,” said the young woman, her voice on a dying fall, her eyes not on Blaise but on James Burden Day.
“Except Mr. Sanford doesn’t go into politics at all,” said Day. “He doesn’t have to, lucky man.”
“I get everyone mixed up,” said Frederika contentedly. Blaise could see that Day attracted her; and that he didn’t. Masculine competitiveness began, like a tide, to rise, for no reason other than the moon’s disposition, or was it lilac, or the other? The other…
Caroline joined them. She, too, was attracted, Blaise could see. A storm of male resolve broke-behind his eyes or wherever such storms break. One male-admittedly taller than he-had attracted two women. He must, somehow, establish his own primacy. “You have come back, as you said you would,” Caroline greeted Day warmly. “In Congress, at last.”
“Father wants you to do something about milk,” said Frederika, gazing thoughtfully at Blaise. At least, he had willed her attention from the other.
“But I don’t come from a dairy state,” said Day, answering for Blaise.
“You are naive!” Caroline seemed to be bestowing a high compliment; but Day blushed, as she meant him to do. “The fact that there is not a single cow in your state means that when you finally do something for all the cows in the nation-I don’t know just what you’ll have to do, but Mr. Bingham will tell you-you will be thought disinterested and altruistic and a true friend of…”
“… of the dairy interests,” finished Day, habitual healthy bronze heightened.
“No. No. Of the cows.” Caroline was emphatic.
“Father really likes them.” Thoughtfully, Frederika smiled her crooked smile at Blaise. “Cows, that is. He can moon around that dairy of his-the one in Chevy Chase-all day.”
“I know how he feels.” Blaise could tell that Caroline was about to improvise an aria. She could, with no effort, say what others would like to hear, with astonishing spontaneity. “I was like that at Saint-Cloud-le-Duc. Remember, Blaise? The cows, the milking rooms, the churns where they still make butter the way they did when Louis XV stayed there? It was Paradise, and at its center not God but the Cow…” Before Caroline could complete her panegyric, Day pulled a small, plump, pretty woman to his side, and said, “This is my wife, Kitty.”
“The cow…” Caroline repeated absently; then her voice trailed off as, politely, she gave the woman her hand. “But this is thrilling,” she began.
Blaise understood her disappointment. Since James Burden Day was uncommonly fetching, Blaise suspected that Caroline’s phantom list of possibilities might once have included him. The speed with which Caroline now set out to charm Kitty convinced Blaise that he was right. “Mr. Day never hinted that he might… And to
“Oh, no, I don’t,” Blaise growled.
But Caroline was not to be stopped. “Was it so sudden? We heard nothing here, and between Frederika’s mother and the
“Well, it was sudden,” said Kitty. She had a low nasal voice of the sort that Blaise liked least in a country where nearly everyone’s voice got on his nerves.
“We got married,” said Day, “on election day. We’d always planned that,” he added.
“Only if you were elected.” Kitty was flat in her humor. “I wasn’t about to marry somebody who was going to stay on in American City, and practice law like everybody else. No, sir,” she said to Caroline, who took the “sir” in easy stride. “I wanted to get out of the state almost as bad as Jim, Representative Day, I guess I have to call him now.”
“Surely not at breakfast.” Caroline was gracious.
Mrs. Bingham, sensing discord or at the least drama, approached and Frederika fled. “Isn’t this a surprise?” The voice was accusing. “Mr. Day never let on that he was going home to get both elected and married, to Judge Halliday’s daughter. Judge Halliday,” Mrs. Bingham explained, “is to that state what Mark Hanna is to Ohio, and then some.”
Blaise noticed that Day was smiling, with embarrassment. On the other hand, Kitty looked as if she had indeed, like the fabulous feline, swallowed the canary. As Caroline now prepared to rise to new heights of insincerity, Blaise was suddenly conscious of the degree and intensity of his sister’s sexuality, no less powerful for her innocence or, rather, ignorance. He wondered, perversely, what it would be like to switch roles with her; then, looking at Day and Kitty, thought better of it. The sort of wall that a man might breach no woman could, at least not in their world. Here the cards were entirely stacked against women; only men could play a relatively free hand.
Kitty spoke of houses and servants, and Caroline offered to help with both. Day turned to Blaise. “I hope we’ll see you, now that you’re nearby.”
“I hope so, too.” Then Blaise added recklessly, “But I won’t be nearby. I’ll be right here.”
“In Washington?” The sandy eyebrows arched.
“Yes, in Washington. New York’s too far away and Baltimore is nowhere at all. I’m looking for a house,” he improvised, inspired by Caroline. She was not the only one who could spin a bright web in company.
“Then we’ll see more of you.” Day was easy; charming. “It won’t be the same, though, without Del.”
“I think I shall build a house,” said Blaise, allowing for no sentiment. “In Connecticut Avenue. The best of country life, the best of village life. She would never,” Blaise lowered his voice, not that Caroline and Kitty could have heard either of them in the noisy room, “never have married Del.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“I know her,” Blaise lied. “Better than myself,” Blaise told the truth.
