“I am glad,” she said simply; “I am proud.  Me you overrate, but my wishes and my hopes you do not overrate.  Only,—­” and she hesitated, “why to-night; why in this particular way?”

“I arrive at that.  My own plans take me soon to Europe.  I am determined to investigate upon the very ground itself this question of a national repression of the human conscience.”

She sat a trifle more erect, a trifle more haughty.  He seemed to read her thoughts.

“Let me hope that you also have planned an early return.  We have much which we might discuss of common interest.  There is much of interest in that country beyond, which we might see.  I do not venture any suggestion for you, but only say that if it were within your own desires to travel in the company of a man whose former station at least ought to render your reputation safe, you and your servants will be welcome in my company.  My party will have other gentlemen and ladies, not of mean station, I hope.”

She looked at him, hesitating, studying.  It was hardly a fair contest, this of youth and scant experience against suavity and shrewdness strengthened by years of public life.

“I am somewhat helpless, Sir,” she said, at length.  “To converse with one so able as yourself,—­what woman of my ambitions would not be pleased with that?  But I am a woman, and alone in the world.  I am already denounced as careless.  There already has been talk.  Moreover, as you see, I am committed now fully to this great work of freeing and sending from America the negro slaves.  Take them from this country.  Replace them with three million men born closer to freedom and citizenship—­”

“Yes.  But you are here somewhat mysteriously; you come privately and secretly.  What harm, then, if you return as privately and secretly as you have come to Washington?  Let your agents carry on your work here.  The mission on which I shall be engaged will have to do with Louis Kossuth.”

“Ah!”

“Yes; and you know that noble patriot, I am told.  Consider of what aid you might be to me.  You speak his tongue, you know his history, you could supply me at once with information—­Come, ’tis no idle errand.  And, perhaps,—­you will forgive me, since we both know how cruel is such gossip as this that has wronged you—­the tongue of gossip wags the least when the eye of gossip has seen least.  Tins is a most natural and proper—­indeed, most convincing opportunity.”

“That is precisely what I pondered, Sir.”  She nodded gravely.

“And let me add this,” he continued:  “every day you are here in Washington the tongue of rumor wags the more.  Listen to me!  Leave this place.  Let gossip quiet down.  It has been cruel with you; yet the public soon forgets.  To remain and appear in public would freshen gossip anew.  Come, it is an adventure!  I swear it does not lack its appeal to me!  Ah, would only that I were younger, and that it were less seemly and sedate!  Dear lady, I offer you my apology for coming as I have, but large plans work rapidly at times, and there is little time to wait.  Now there is but one word I can say; that you have courage and decision, I know.”