Part 14 (2/2)
”There's no use in discussing that,” said the Governor blandly; ”but I'd like to know what you suffragettes find so distasteful in that proposed bill which the Mayor and--and the Governor of New York have had drafted.”
”It is reactionary--a miserable subterfuge--a treacherous attempt to return to the old order of things! A conspiracy to re-shackle, re-enslave American womanhood with the sordid chains of domestic cares! To drive her back into the kitchen, the laundry, the nursery--back into the dark ages of dependence and acquiescence and non-resistance--back into the degraded epochs of sentimental relations with the tyrant man!”
She leaned forward in her excitement and her sable boa slid back as she made a gesture with her expensive m.u.f.f.
”Once,” she said, ”woman was so ignorant that she married for love! Now the national revolt has come. Neither sentiment nor impulse nor emotion shall ever again play any part in our relations with man!”
He said, trying to speak ironically: ”That's a gay outlook, isn't it?”
”The outlook, Captain Jones, is straight into a glorious millennium. Marriage, in the future, is to mean the regeneration of the human race through cold-blooded selection in mating. Only the physically and mentally perfect will hereafter be selected as specimens for scientific propagation. All others must remain unmated--pro bono publico--and so ultimately human imperfection shall utterly disappear from this world!”
Her pretty enthusiasm, her earnestness, the delicious colour in her cheeks, began to fascinate him. Then uneasiness returned.
”Do you know,” he said cautiously, ”that the Governor of New York has received anonymous letters informing him that Professor Elizabeth Challis considers him a proper specimen for the--the t-t-terrible purposes of s-s-scientific p-p-propagation?”
”Some traitor in our camp,” she said, ”wrote those letters.”
”It--it isn't true, then, is it?”
”What isn't true?”
”That the Governor of the great State of New York is in any danger of being seized for any such purpose?”
She looked at him with a curious veiled expression in her pretty eyes, as though she were near-sighted.
”I think,” she said, ”Professor Challis means to seize him.”
The Governor gazed at her, horrified for a moment, then his political craft came to his aid, and he laughed.
”What does she look like?” he inquired. ”Is she rather a tough old lady?”
”No; she's young and--athletic.”
”Barrel-shaped?”
”Oh, she's as tall as the Governor is--about six feet, I believe.”
”Nonsense!” he exclaimed, paling.
”Six feet,” she repeated carelessly; ”rowed stroke at Va.s.sar; carried off the standing long jump, pole vault, and ten-mile swimming----”
”This--this is terrible,” murmured the young man, pa.s.sing one gloved hand over his dampening brow. Then, with a desperate attempt at a smile, he leaned forward and said confidentially: ”As a matter of fact, just between you and me, the Governor is an invalid.”
”Impossible!” she retorted, her clear blue eyes on his.
”Alas! It is only too true. He's got a very, very rare disease,” said the young man sadly. ”Promise you won't tell?”
”Y-yes,” said the girl. Her face had lost some of its colour.
”Then I will confide in you,” said the young man impressively. ”The Governor is threatened with a serious cardiac affection, known as Lamour's disease.”
She looked down, remained silent for a moment, then lifted her pure gaze to him.
”Is that true--Captain Jones?”
”As true as that I am his Military Secretary.”
Her features remained expressionless, but the colour came back as though the worst of the shock were over.
”I see,” she said seriously. ”Professor Challis ought to know of this sad condition of affairs. I have heard of Lamour's disease.”
”Indeed, she ought to be told at once,” he said, delighted. ”You'll inform her, won't you?”
”If you wish.”
”Thank you! Thank you!” he said fervently. ”You are certainly the most charmingly reasonable of your delightful s.e.x. The Governor will be tremendously obliged to you----”
”Is the Governor--are his--his affections--to use an obsolete expression--fixed upon any particular----”
”Oh, no!” he said, smiling; ”the Governor isn't in love--except--er--generally. He's a gay bird. The Governor never, in all his career, saw a single specimen of your s.e.x which--well, which interested him as much--well, for example,” he added in a burst of confidence, ”as much even as you interest me!”
”Which, of course, is not at all,” she said, laughing.
”Oh, no--no, not at all----” he hesitated, biting his moustache and looking at her.
”I'll tell you one thing,” he said; ”if the Governor ever did get entirely well--er--recovered--you know what I mean?”
”Cured of his cardiac trouble?--this disease known as Lamour's disease?”
”Exactly. If he ever did recover, he--I'm quite sure he would be----” and here he hesitated, gazing at her in silence. As for her, she had turned her head and was gazing out of the window.
”I wonder what your name is?” he said, so navely that the colour tinted even the tip of the small ear turned toward him.
”My name,” she said, ”is Mary Smith. Like you, I am Militant Secretary to Professor Elizabeth Challis, President of the Federation of American Women.”
”I hope we will remain on pleasant terms,” he ventured.
”I hope so, Captain Jones.”
”Non-combatants?”
”I trust so.”
”Even f-friends?”
She bent her distractingly pretty head in acquiescence.
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