They found themselves alone, in the special
apartment reserved for guests of distinction. An awkward moment
ensued. Josephine was first to break the silence. Dunwody could
only sit and look at her, devouring each line, each little
remembered gesture of her. Yes, it was she--a little older and
graver and thinner, yes. But it was she.
"I was talking with Jeanne this very morning," she said. "She was
telling me some story that you have been unfortunate--that there
have been--that is to say--political changes--"
He nodded, "Yes. Perhaps you know I have lost my place with my
people here? I am done for, politically."
He continued, smiling; "Just to show you the extent of my downfall,
I have heard that they are intending to tar and feather me
to-night,--perhaps to give me a ride upon a rail! That is the form
of entertainment which in the West hitherto has generally been
reserved for horse-thieves, unwelcome revivalists, and that sort of
thing. Not that it terrifies me.
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