I
represent. Those are MY functions. At the same time, should occasion--or
opportunity--for we are within a day or two of the close of the
Session--"

"Yes," interrupted Carmen, sadly, "I see,--it will be some business,
some claim, something for somebody,--ah! Madre de Dios,--you will not
speak, and I--"

"When do you think of returning?" asked the Senator, with grave
politeness; "when are we to lose you?"

"I shall stay to the last,--to the end of the Session," said Carmen.
"And NOW I shall go." She got up and pulled her shawl viciously over her
shoulders, with a pretty pettishness, perhaps the most feminine thing
she had done that evening. Possibly, the most genuine.

The Senator smiled affably: "You do not deserve to be disappointed in
either case; but it is later than you imagine; let me help you on the
shorter distance in my carriage; it is at the door."

He accompanied her gravely to the carriage. As it rolled away, she
buried her little figure in its ample cushions and chuckled to herself,
albeit a little hysterically. When she had reached her destination, she
found herself crying, and hastily, and somewhat angrily, dried her eyes
as she drew up at the door of her lodgings.

"How have you prospered?" asked Mr. Harlowe, of counsel for Royal
Thatcher, as he gallantly assisted her from the carriage. "I have
been waiting here for two hours; your interview must have been
prolonged,--that was a good sign."

"Don't ask me now," said Carmen, a little savagely, "I'm worn out and
tired."

Mr. Harlowe bowed. "I trust you will be better to-morrow, for we expect
our friend, Mr. Thatcher."

Carmen's brown cheek flushed slightly. "He should have been here before.
Where is he? What was he doing?"

"He was snowed up on the plains. He is coming as fast as steam can carry
him; but he may be too late."

Carmen did not reply.

The lawyer lingered. "How did you find the great New-England Senator?"
he asked with a slight professional levity.

Carmen was tired, Carmen was worried, Carmen was a little
self-reproachful, and she kindled easily. Consequently she said icily:

"I found him A GENTLEMAN!"

CHAPTER XV

HOW IT BECAME UNFINISHED BUSINESS

The closing of the ---- Congress was not unlike the closing of the
several preceding Congresses. There was the same unbusiness-like,
impractical haste; the same hurried, unjust, and utterly inadequate
adjustment of unfinished, ill-digested business, that would not have