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 'Oi\ 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Carol Kammen 
 
 Undergraduate 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PS3531.H65S6 1905 
 
 The social secretary / 
 
 3 1924 009 319 900 
 
The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924009319900 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
THE SOCIAL 
 S ECRETARY 
 
 DAVID GRAHAM ^ULUPS 
 Author of The PIuSiTree 
 The Cost etc. etc. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 CLARENCE E UNDERWOOD 
 
 Decorations by 
 Ralph Fletcher Seymour 
 
 New York 
 
 Grosset & Dunlap 
 
 Publishers 
 

 coptkight 1905 
 The Bobbs-Meeeill Compant 
 
 October 
 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 I 
 
 NOVEMBER 29. At half-past 
 one to-day — half- past one ex- 
 actly — I began my "career." 
 Mrs. Carteret said she would call for 
 me at five minutes to one. But it was 
 ten minutes after when she appeared, 
 away down at the corner of I Street. 
 Jim was walking up and down the 
 drawing-room; I was at the window, 
 watching that corner of I Street. 
 "There she blows!" I cried, my voice 
 brave, but my heart like a big lump of 
 something soggy and sad. 
 I 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 Jim hurried up and stood behind me, 
 staring glumly over my shoulder. He 
 has proposed to me in so many words 
 more than twenty times in the last three 
 years, and has looked it every time 
 we've met — we meet almost every day. 
 I could feel that he was getting ready 
 to propose again, but I hadn't the slight- 
 est fear that he'd touch me. He's in 
 the army, and his "pull" has kept him 
 snug and safe at Washington and has 
 promoted him steadily until now he's 
 a Colonel at thirty-five. But he was 
 brought up in a formal, old-fashioned 
 way, and he'd think it a deadly insult 
 to a woman he respected enough to ask 
 her to be his wife if he should touch 
 her without her permission. I admire 
 Jim's self-restraint, but — I couldn't bear 
 being married to a man who worshiped 
 me, even if I only Hked him. If I 
 2 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 loved him, I'd be utterly miserable. I've 
 been trying hard to love Jim for the 
 past four months, or ever since I've 
 really realized how^ desperate my affairs 
 are. But I can't. And the most exas- 
 perating part of my obstinacy is that I 
 can't find a good reason or excuse for it. 
 
 As I Vi^as saying — or, rather, w^riting 
 — Jim stood behind me and said in a 
 husky sort of voice: "You ain't goin' 
 to do it, are you, Gus?" 
 
 I didn't answer. If I had said any- 
 thing, it v^^ould have been a feeble, 
 miserable "No" — which would have 
 meant that I was accepting the alter- 
 native — him. All my courage had gone 
 and I felt contemptibly feminine and 
 dependent. 
 
 I looked at him — I did like the ex- 
 pression of his eyes and the strength 
 and manliness of him from head to foot. 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 What a fine sort of man a "pull" and 
 a private income have spoiled in Jim 
 Lafollette! He w^ent on: "Surely, I'm 
 not more repellent to you than — than 
 what that auto is coming to take you 
 away to." 
 
 "Shame on you, Jim Lafollette?" I 
 said angrily — most of the anger so thaf 
 he wouldn't understand and take advan- 
 tage of the tears in my eyes and voice. 
 "But how like you! How brave!" 
 
 He reddened at that — partly because 
 he felt guilty toward me, partly because 
 he is ashamed of the laziness that has 
 made him shirk for thirteen years. "I 
 don't care a hang whether it's brave or 
 not, or what it is," he said sullenly. "I 
 want you. And it seems to me I've got 
 to do something — use force, if necessary 
 — to keep you ixova.—from that. You 
 ain't fit for it, Gus — not in any way. 
 
 4 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 Why, it's worse than being a servant. 
 And you — brought up as you've been — " 
 
 I laughed — a pretty successful effort. 
 "I've been educating for it all my life, 
 v^ithout knowing it. And it's honest 
 and independent. If you had the right 
 sort of ideas of self-respect, you'd be 
 ashamed of me if you thought I'd be 
 low enough to marry a man I couldn't 
 give my heart to — for a living." 
 
 "Don't talk rubbish," he retorted. 
 "Thousands of women do it. Besides, 
 if I don't mind, why should you.? God 
 knows you've made it plain enough that 
 you don't love me. Gus, why can't you 
 marry me and let me save you from this 
 just as a brother might save a sister?" 
 
 "Because I may love somebody some 
 day, Jim," said I. I wanted to hurt 
 him — for his own sake, and also because 
 I didn't want him to tempt me. 
 
 5 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 The auto was at the curb. He didn't 
 move until I was almost at the drawing- 
 room door. Then he rushed at me and 
 his look frightened me a little. He 
 caught me by the arm. "It's the last 
 chance, Augusta!" he exclaimed. 
 "Won't you?" 
 
 I drew away and hurried out. "Then 
 you don't intend to have anything to 
 do with me after I've crossed the line 
 and become a toiler?" I called back 
 over my shoulder. I couldn't resist the 
 temptation to be thoroughly feminine 
 and leave the matter open by putting 
 him in the wrong with my "woman's 
 last word." I was so low in my mind 
 that I reasoned that my adventure might 
 be as appalling as I feared, in which 
 case it would be well to have an alter- 
 oative. I wonder if the awful thoughts 
 we sometimes have are our real selves 
 6 
 
The Social Secret ai35 
 
 or if they just give us the chance to 
 measure the gap between what we might 
 be as shown by them and what we are 
 as shown by our acts. I hope the lat- 
 ter, for surely I can't be as poor a crea- 
 ture as I so often have impulses to make 
 myself. 
 
 Mrs. Carteret was waiting for the 
 servant to open the door. I hurried her 
 back toward the auto, being a little 
 afraid that Jim would be desperate 
 enough to come out and beg her to 
 help him — and I knew she would do 
 it if she were asked. In the first place, 
 Jessie always does what she's asked to 
 do — if it helps her to spend time and 
 breath. In the second place, she'd never 
 let up on me if she thought I had so 
 good a chance to marry. For she knows 
 that Washington is the hardest place in 
 the world for a woman to find a hus- 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 band unless she's got something that 
 appeals to the ambition of men. Besides, 
 she thinks, as do many of my friends, 
 that I am indifferent to men and dis- 
 courage them. As if any woman was 
 indifferent to men! The only point is 
 that women's ideas of what constitutes 
 a man differ, and my six years in this 
 cosmopolis have made me somewhat 
 discriminating. 
 
 But to return to Jessie, she was full 
 of apologies for being late. " I've thought 
 of nothing but you, dear, for two days 
 and nights. And I thought that for 
 once in my life I'd be on time. Yet 
 here I am, fifteen minutes late, unless 
 that clock's wrong." She was looking 
 at the beautiful little clock set in the 
 dashboard of the auto. 
 
 "Only fifteen minutes!" I said. "And 
 you never before were known to be less 
 
 8 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 than half an hour late. You even kept 
 the President waiting twenty minutes." 
 
 "Isn't it stupid, this fussing about 
 being on time?" she replied. "I don't 
 believe any but dull people and those 
 who want to get something from one 
 are ever on time. For those who really 
 live, life is so full that punctuality is 
 impossible. But I should have been on 
 time, if I hadn't been down seeing the 
 Secretary of War about Willie Catesby 
 — poor Willie! He has been so handi- 
 capped by nature!" 
 
 "Did you get it for him?" I asked. 
 
 "I think so — third secretary at St. 
 Petersburg. The secretary said: 'But 
 Willie is almost an imbecile, Mrs. Car- 
 teret. If we don't send him abroad, his 
 family'll have to put him away.' And 
 I said: 'That's true, Mr. Secretary. But 
 if we don't send that sort of people to 
 
 9 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 foreign courts, how are we to repay the 
 insults they send us in the form of im- 
 becile attaches?' And then I handed 
 him six letters from senators — every one 
 of them a man whose vote he needs for 
 his fight on that nomination. They were 
 real letters. So presently he said, 'Very 
 well, Mrs. Carteret, I'll do what I can 
 to resent the Czar's last insult by export- 
 ing Willie to him." 
 
 I waited a moment, then burst out with 
 what I was full of. "You think she'll 
 take me?" I said. 
 
 Jessie reproached me with tragedy in 
 her always intensely serious gray eyes. 
 "Take you?" she exclaimed. "Take a 
 Talltowers when there's a chance to get 
 one? Why, as soon as I explained who 
 you were, she fairly quivered with 
 eagerness." 
 
 "You had to explain who a Talltow- 
 
 lO 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 ers is?" I said with mock amazement. 
 It's delightful to poke fun at Jessie; she 
 always appreciates a jest by taking it 
 more seriously than an ordinary state- 
 ment of fact. 
 
 "But, dear, you mustn't be offended. 
 You know Mrs. Burke is very common 
 and ignorant. She doesn't know the 
 first thing about the world. She said 
 to me the other day that she had often 
 heard there were such things as class 
 distinctions, but had never believed it 
 until she came to Washington — she had 
 thought it was like the fairy stories. 
 She never was farther east than Chi- 
 cago until this fall. She went there 
 to the Fair. You must get her to tell 
 you how she and three other women 
 who belong to the same Chautauqua 
 Circle went on together and slept in 
 the same room and walked from dawn 
 II 
 
The Social Secret aCk5 
 
 till dark every day, catalogue in hand, 
 for eleven days. It's too pathetic. She 
 said, 'My! but my feet were sore. I 
 thought I was a cripple for life.' " 
 
 "That sounds nice and friendly," said 
 I, suspicious that Jessie's quaint sense of 
 humor had not permitted her to appre- 
 ciate Mrs. Burke. "I'm so dreadfully 
 afraid I'll fall into the clutches of peo- 
 ple that'll try to — to humiliate me." 
 
 Tears sprang to Jessie's eyes. "Please 
 don't, Gus!" she pleaded. "They'll be 
 only too deferential. And you must keep 
 them so. I suspect that Mrs. Burke 
 chums with her servants." 
 
 We were stopping before the house 
 — the big, splendid Ralston Castle, as 
 they call it; one of the very finest of the 
 houses that have been building since rich 
 men began to buy into the Senate and 
 Cabinet and aspire for diplomatic places, 
 
 12 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 and so have attracted other rich fami- 
 lies to Washington. What a changed 
 Washington it is, and what a fight the 
 old simplicity is making against the new 
 ostentation! The sight of the Ralston 
 Castle in my present circumstances de- 
 pressed me horribly. I went to my sec- 
 ond ball there, and it was given for me 
 by Mrs. Ralston. And only a little more 
 than a year ago I danced in the qua- 
 drille of honor with the French Ambas- 
 sador — and the next week the Ralstons 
 went smash and hurried abroad to hide, 
 all except the old man who is hanging 
 round Wall Street, they say, trying to 
 get on his feet with the aid of his friends. 
 Friends ! How that word must burn into 
 him every time he thinks of it. When 
 he got into a tight place his "friends" 
 took advantage of their knowledge of 
 his affairs to grab his best securities, they 
 
 13 
 
The Social Secret a335 
 
 say. No doubt he was disagreeable in 
 a way, but still those who turned on him 
 the most savagely had been intimate with 
 him and had accepted his hospitality. 
 
 "You'll be mistress here," Jessie was 
 saying. She had put on her prophetic 
 look and pose — she really believes she 
 has second sight at certain times. "And 
 you'll marry the son, if you manage it 
 right. I counted him in when I was 
 going over the advantages and disadvan- 
 tages of the place before proposing it to 
 you. He looks like a mild, nice young 
 mian — though I must say I don't fancy 
 cowlicks right in the part of the hair. 
 I saw only his picture." 
 
 A tall footman with an insolent face 
 opened the door and ushered us into the 
 small drawing-room to the left: "Mrs. 
 Carteret ! Miss Tallto wers ! " he shouted 
 — far louder than is customary or cour- 
 
 14 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 teous, I saw the impudent grin in his eyes 
 — no proper man-servant ever permits 
 any one to see his eyes. And he almost 
 dropped the curtain in our faces, in such 
 haste was he to get back to his lounging- 
 place below stairs. 
 
 His roar had lifted to her feet an 
 elderly woman with her hair so badly 
 dyed that it made her features look hag- 
 gard and harsh and even dissipated. She 
 made a nervous bow. She was of the 
 figure called stout by the charitable and 
 sumptuous by the crude. She was richly- 
 dressed, over-dressed, dressed-up — shiny 
 figured satin with a great deal of beads 
 and lace that added to her width and 
 subtracted from her height.. She stood 
 miserable, jammed and crammed into a 
 tight corset. Her hands — very nice 
 hands, I noticed — were folded upon her 
 stomach. As soon as I got used to that 
 
 15 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 revolting hair-dye, I saw that she had 
 in fact a large-featured, sweet face with 
 fine brown eyes. Even with the dye she 
 was the kind of looking woman that it 
 sounds perfectly natural to hear her hus- 
 band call "mother." 
 
 Jessie went up to her as she stood 
 wretched in her pitiful attempt at youth 
 and her grandeur of clothes and sur- 
 roundings. Mrs. Burke looked down 
 kindly, with a sudden quizzical smile 
 that reminded me of my suspicions as 
 to the Chicago Fair story. Jessie was 
 looking up like a plump, pretty, tame 
 robin, head on one side. "Dear Mrs, 
 Burke," she said. "This is Miss Tall- 
 towers, and I'm sure you'll love each 
 other." 
 
 Mrs. Burke looked at me — I thought, 
 with a determined attempt to be sus- 
 picious and cautious. I'm afraid Jessie's 
 x6 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 reputation for tireless effort to do some- 
 thing for everybody has finally "queered" 
 her recommendations. However, what- 
 ever warning Mrs. Burke had received 
 went for nothing. She was no match 
 for Jessie — Jessie from whom his Maj- 
 esty at the White House hides when 
 he knows she's coming for an impossi- 
 ble favor — she was no match for Jessie 
 and she knew it. She wiped the sweat 
 from her face and stammered: "I hope 
 we'll suit each other. Miss — " In her 
 embarrassment she had forgotten my 
 name. 
 
 "Talltowers," whispered Jessie with a 
 side-splitting look of tragic apology to 
 me. Just then the clock in the corner 
 struck out the half-hour from its cathedral 
 bell — the sound echoed and reechoed 
 through me, for it marked the beginning 
 of my "career." Jessie went on more 
 
 17 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 loudly: "And now that our business is 
 settled, can't we have some lunch, Mrs. 
 Burke? I'm starved." 
 
 Mrs. Burke brightened. "The Sena- 
 tor won't be here to-day," she drawled, in 
 a tone which always suggests to me that, 
 after all, life is a smooth, leisurely mat- 
 ter with plenty of time for everything 
 except work. "As he was leaving for 
 the Capitol this morning, he says to me, 
 says he: 'You women had better fight 
 it out alone.'" 
 
 "The dear Senator!" said Jessie. 
 "He's so clever?" 
 
 "Yes, he is mighty clever with those 
 he likes," replied Mrs. Burke — Jessie 
 looking at me to make sure I would 
 note Mrs. Burke's "provincial" way of 
 using the word clever. 
 
 Jessie saved the luncheon — or, at least, 
 thought she was saving it. Mrs. Burke 
 l8 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 and I had only to listen and eat. I caught 
 her looking at me several times, and 
 then I saw shrewdness in her eyes — 
 good-natured, but none the less pene- 
 trating for that. And I knew I should 
 like her, and should get on with her. 
 At last our eyes met and we both smiled. 
 After that she somehow seemed less 
 crowded and foreign in her tight, fine 
 clothes. I saw she was impatient for 
 Jessie to go the moment luncheon was 
 over, but it was nearly three o'clock 
 before we were left alone together. 
 There fell an embarrassed silence — for 
 both of us were painfully conscious that 
 nothing had really been settled. 
 
 "When do you wish me to come — 
 if you do wish it at all?" I asked, by 
 way of making a beginning. 
 
 "When do you think you could 
 come?" she inquired nervously. 
 
 19 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 "Then you do wish to give me a 
 trial? I hope you won't feel that Mrs. 
 Carteret's precipitate way binds you." 
 
 She gave me a shrewd, good-natured 
 look. "I want you to come," she said. 
 "I wanted it from what I'd heard of 
 you — I and Mr. Burke. I want it more 
 than ever, now that I've seen you. When 
 can you come?" 
 
 "To-morrow — to-morrow morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Come as early as you like. The sal- 
 ary is — is satisfactory?" 
 
 "Mrs. Carteret said — but I'm sure — 
 you can judge better — whatever — " I 
 stuttered, red as fire. 
 
 Mrs. Burke laughed. "I can see you 
 ain't a great hand at business. The sal- 
 ary is two thousand a year, with a three 
 months' vacation in the time we're not 
 at Washington. Always have a plain un- 
 20 
 
The Social Secreta]3$ 
 
 derstanding in money matters — it saves 
 a lot of mean feelings and quarrels." 
 
 "Very well — whatever you think. I 
 don't believe I'm worth much of any- 
 thing until I've had a chance to show 
 what I can do." 
 
 "Well, Tom— Mr. Burke— said two 
 thousand would be about right at the set- 
 off," she drawled in her calming tone. 
 "So we'll consider that settled." 
 
 "Yes," I gasped, with a big sigh of 
 relief. "I suppose you wish me to take 
 charge of your social matters — relieve 
 you of the burdensome part of enter- 
 taining?" 
 
 " I just wish you could," she said, with 
 a great deal of humor in her slow voice. 
 "But I've got to keep that — it's the try- 
 ing to make people have a good time 
 and not look and act as if they were 
 wondering why they'd come," 
 
 21 
 
TheSocial Secreta©5 
 
 "That'll soon wear off," said I. "Most 
 of the stiffness is strangeness on both 
 sides, don't you think?" 
 
 "I don't know. As nearly as I can 
 make out, they never had a real, natural 
 good time in their lives. They wear the 
 Sunday, go-to-meeting clothes and man- 
 ners the whole seven days. I'll never 
 get used to it. I can't talk that kind of 
 talk. And if I was just plain and natural, 
 they'd think I was stark crazy." 
 
 "Did you ever try?" 
 
 She lifted her hands in mock-horror. 
 "Mercy, no! Tom — Mr. Burke — warned 
 me." 
 
 I laughed. "Men don't know much 
 about that sort of thing," said I. "A 
 woman might as well let a man tell her 
 how to dress as how to act." 
 
 She colored. "He does," she said, her 
 eyes twinkling. "He was here two win- 
 
 22 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 ters — this is my first. I've a kind of feel- 
 ing that he really don't know, but he's 
 positive and — I've had nobody else to 
 talk about it with. I'm a stranger here 
 — not a friend except people who — well, 
 I can guess pretty close to what they say 
 behind my back." She laughed — a great 
 shaking of as much of her as was not 
 held rigid by that tight corset. "Not 
 that I care — I like a joke myself, and 
 I'm a good deal of a joke among these 
 grand folks. Only, I do want to help 
 Tom, and not be a drag." She gave me 
 a sudden, sharp Took. "I don't know 
 why I trust you, I'm sure." 
 
 "Because I'm your confidential ad- 
 viser," said I, "and it's always well to 
 keep nothing from a confidential ad- 
 viser." The longer I looked and lis- 
 tened, the larger possibilities I saw in 
 her. My enthusiasm was rising. 
 
 23 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 she rose and came to me and kissed 
 me. There were tears in her eyes. "I've 
 been so lonesome," she said. "Even Tom 
 don't seem natural any more, aw^ay off 
 here in the East. Sometimes I get so 
 homesick that I just can't eat or any- 
 thing." 
 
 "We're going to have a lot of fun," 
 said I encouragingly — as if she w^ere 
 twenty-four and I fifty, instead of it be- 
 ing the other way. "You'll soon learn 
 the ropes." 
 
 "I'm so glad you use slang," she 
 drawled, back in her chair and comfort- 
 ably settled. "My, but Tom' 11 be scan- 
 dalized. He's made inquiries about you 
 and has made up his mind that whatever 
 you say is right. And I almost believed 
 he knew the trails. I might 'a' known! 
 He's a man, you see, and always was 
 stiff with the ladies. You ought to 'a' 
 24 
 
The Social Secretaos 
 
 seen the letter he wrote proposing to me. 
 You see, I'm kind of fat and always was. 
 Mother used to tease me because I hadn't 
 any beaux except Tom, who wouldn't 
 come to the point. She said: 'Lizzie', 
 you'll never have a man make real love 
 to you.' And she was right. When 
 Tom proposed he wrote very formal- 
 like — not a sentimental word. And 
 when we were married and got better 
 acquainted, I teased him about it, and 
 tried to get him to make love, real book 
 kind of love. But not a word! But he's 
 fond of me — we always have got on 
 fine, and his being no good at love-talk 
 is just one of our jokes." 
 
 It was fine to hear her drawl it out 
 — I knew that she was sure to make a 
 hit, if only I could get her under way, 
 could convince her that it's nice to be 
 natural if you're naturally nice. 
 
 25 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 "Tom" came in from the Senate and 
 I soon saw that, though she was a 
 "really" lady, of the only kind that is 
 real — the kind that's born right, he was 
 a made gentleman, and not a very suc- 
 cessful job. He was small and thin and 
 dressed with the same absurd stiif care 
 with which he had made her dress. He 
 had a pointed reddish beard and reddish 
 curls, and he used a kind of scent that 
 smelt cheap though it probably wasn't. 
 He was very precise and distant with 
 me — how "Lizzie's" eyes did twinkle 
 as she watched him. I saw that she was 
 "on to" Tom with the quickness with 
 which a shrewd woman always finds 
 out, once she gets the clue. 
 
 *'Have you had Miss Talltowers 
 shown her rooms, Mrs. Burke?" he soon 
 inquired. 
 
 "Why, no, pa," replied Mrs. Burke. 
 26 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 "I forgot it clear." As she said "pa" 
 he winced and her eyes danced with 
 fun. She went on to me: "You don't 
 mind our calHng each other pa and ma 
 before you, do you, Miss Talltowers? 
 We're so used to doing it that, if you 
 minded it and we had to stop, we'd feel 
 as if we had company in the house all 
 the time." 
 
 I didn't dare answer, I was so full of 
 laughter. For "pa" looked as if he 
 were about to sink through the floor. 
 She led me up to my rooms — a beauti- 
 ful suite on the third floor. "We took 
 the house furnished," she explained as 
 we went, "and I feel as if I was living 
 in a hotel — except that the servants 
 ain't nearly so nice. I do hope you'll 
 help me with them. Tom wanted me 
 to take a housekeeper, but those that 
 applied were such grand ladies that I'd 
 
 27 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 rather 'a' done all my own work than 
 'a' had any one of them about. Perhaps 
 we could get one now, and you could 
 kind of keep her in check." 
 
 "I think it'd be better to have some 
 one," I replied. "I've had some experi- 
 ence in managing a house." I couldn't 
 help saying it unsteadily — not because 
 I miss our house; no, I'm sure it wasn't 
 that. But I suddenly saw the old li- 
 brary and my father looking up from his 
 book to smile lovingly at me as I strug- 
 gled with the household accounts. Any- 
 how, deep down I'm glad he did know 
 so little about business and so much 
 about everything that's fine. I'd rather 
 have my memories of him than any 
 money he could have left me by being 
 less of a father and friend and more of 
 a "practical" man. 
 
 Mrs. Burke looked at me sympathet- 
 28 
 
The Social Secreta^k^ 
 
 ically — I could see that she longed to 
 say something about my changed for- 
 tunes, but refrained through fear of not 
 saying the right thing. I must teach 
 her never to be afraid of that — a born 
 lady with a good heart could never be 
 really tactless. She w^ent to the front 
 door with me, opening it for me her- 
 self to the contemptuous amusement of 
 the tall footman. We shook hands and 
 kissed — I usually can't bear to have a 
 woman kiss me, but I'd have felt badly 
 if "ma" Burke hadn't done it. 
 
 When I got back to Rachel's and 
 burst into the drawing-room with a 
 radiant face, I heard a grunt like a groan. 
 It was from Jim in the twilight near 
 Rachel at the tea-table. "I'm going 
 out to service to-morrow," said I to 
 Rachel. "So you're to be rid of your 
 visitor at last." 
 
 29 
 
The Social Secret a^^ 
 
 "Oh, Gus!" exclaimed Rachel be- 
 tween anger and tears. And Jim looked 
 black and sullen. But I was happy — 
 and am to-night. Happy for the first 
 time in two years. I'm going to do 
 something — and it is something that 
 interests me. I'm going to launch a fine 
 stately ship, a full-rigged four-master in 
 this big-little sea of Washington society. 
 What a sensation I can make with it 
 among the pretty holiday boats! 
 
 30 
 
II 
 
 DECEMBER 6. Last Monday 
 morning young Mr. Burke — 
 Cyrus, the son and heir — ar- 
 rived, just from Germany. The first 
 glimpse I had of him was as he entered 
 the house between his father and his 
 mother, who had gone to the station to 
 meet him. I got myself out of the way 
 and didn't come down until "ma" Burke 
 sent for me. I liked the way she was 
 sitting there beaming — but then, I like 
 almost everything she does; she's such 
 a large, natural person. She never stands, 
 
 31 
 
The Social Secreta]35 
 
 except on her way to sit just as soon as 
 ever she can. "I never was a great 
 hand for using my feet," she said to me 
 on my second day, "and I don't know 
 but about as much seems to 'a' come to 
 find me as most people catch up with 
 by running their legs off." I liked the 
 way her son was hovering about her. 
 And I liked the way "pa" Burke hov- 
 ered round them both, nervous and pull- 
 ing at his whiskers and trying to think 
 of things to say — if he only wouldn't 
 use brilliantine, or whatever it is, on his 
 whiskers! 
 
 "Cyrus, this is my friend. Miss Tall- 
 towers," said Mrs. Burke. I smiled and 
 he clapped his heels together with a 
 click and doubled up as if he had a sud- 
 den pain in his middle, just like all the 
 northern Continental diplomats. When 
 he straightened back to the normal I 
 
 32 
 
The Social Secreta©; 
 
 took a good look at him — and he at me. 
 I don't know — or, rather, didn't then 
 know — what he thought. But I thought 
 him — well, "common." He has a great 
 big body that's strong and well-pro- 
 portioned; but his features are so insig- 
 nificant — a small mouth, a small nose, 
 small ears, eyes, forehead, small head. 
 And there, in the very worst place — 
 just where the part ought to be — was 
 the cowlick I'd noticed in his photo- 
 graph. When he began to speak I liked 
 him still less. He's been at Berlin three 
 years, but still has his Harvard accent. 
 I wonder why they teach men at Har- 
 vard to use their lips in making words 
 as a Miss Nancy sort of man uses his 
 fingers in doing fancy work? 
 
 Neither of us said anything memora- 
 ble, and presently he went away to his 
 room, his mother going up with him. 
 
 33 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 His father followed to the foot of the 
 stairs, then drifted away to his study 
 where he could lie in wait for Cyrus 
 on his way down. Pretty soon his 
 mother came into the "office" they've 
 given me — it's just off the drawing-room 
 so that I can be summoned to it the 
 instant any one comes to see Mrs. Burke. 
 "I've let his pa have him for a while," 
 she explained, as she came in. I saw 
 that she was full of her boy, so I turned 
 away from my books. She rambled on 
 about him for an hour, not knowing 
 what she was saying, but just pouring 
 out whatever came into her head. " His 
 pa has always said I'd spoil him," was 
 one of the things I remember, "but I 
 don't think love ever spoiled anybody." 
 Also she told me that his real name 
 wasn't Cyrus but Bucyrus, the town his 
 father originally came from — it's some- 
 
 34 
 
....... .^1 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 where in Ohio, I think she said. "And," 
 said she, "whenever I want to cut his 
 comb I just give him his name. He 
 tames right down." Also that he has 
 used all sorts of things on the cowlick 
 without success. "There it is, still," 
 said she, "as cross-grained as ever. I 
 like it about the best of anything, ex- 
 cept maybe his long legs. I'm a duck- 
 leg myself, and his pa — well, his legs 
 *just about reach the ground,' as Lincoln 
 said, and after that the less said the 
 sooner forgot. But Cyrus has legs. And 
 his cowlick matches a cowlick in his 
 disposition — a kind of gnarly knot that 
 you can't cut nor saw through nor get 
 round no way. It's been the saving of 
 him, he's so good-natured and easy 
 otherwise." And she went on to tell 
 how generous he is, "the only generous 
 small-eared person I've ever known, 
 
 35 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 though I must say I have my doubts 
 about ears as a sign. There was Bill 
 Slayback in our town, with ears like a 
 jack-rabbit, and whenever he had a poor 
 man do a job of work about his place 
 he used to pay him with a ninety-day 
 note and then shave the note." 
 
 I was glad when she hurried away at 
 the sound of Cyrus in the hall. For a 
 huge lot of work there'll be for me to do 
 until I get things in some sort of order. 
 I've opened a regular set of books to 
 keep the social accounts in. Of course, 
 nobody who goes in for society, on the 
 scale we're going into it, could get along 
 without social bookkeeping as big as a 
 bank's. I pity the official women in the 
 high places who can't afford secretaries; 
 they must spend hours every night post- 
 ing and fussing with their account-books 
 when they ought to be in bed asleep. 
 
 36 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 On my second day here "pa" Burke 
 explained what his plans were. "We 
 wish to make our house," said he, "the 
 most distinguished social center in Wash- 
 ington, next to the White House — and 
 very democratic. Above all. Miss Tall- 
 towers, democratic." 
 
 "He don't mean that he wants us to 
 do our own work and send out the wash," 
 drawled "ma" Burke, who was sitting 
 by. " But democratic, with fourteen ser- 
 vants in livery." 
 
 "I understand," said I. "You wish 
 simplicity, and people to feel at ease, 
 Mr. Burke." 
 
 "Exactly," he replied in a dubious 
 tone. "But I wish to maintain the — 
 the dignities, as it were." 
 
 I saw he was afraid I might get the 
 idea he wanted something like those 
 rough-and-tumble public maulings of 
 
 37 
 
TheSocial Secreta©5 
 
 the President that they have at the White 
 House. I hastened to reassure him; then 
 I explained my plan. I had drawn up a 
 system somewhat like those the Presi- 
 dent's wife and the Cabinet women and 
 the other big entertainers have. I'm glad 
 the Burkes haven't any daughters. If 
 they had I'd certainly need an assistant. 
 As it is, I'm afraid I'll worry myself 
 hollow-eyed over my books. 
 
 First, there's the Ledger — a real, big, 
 thick office ledger with almost four hun- 
 dred accounts in it, each one indexed. 
 Of course, there aren't any entries as yet. 
 But there soon will be — what we owe 
 various people in the way of entertain- 
 ment, what they've paid, and what they 
 owe us. 
 
 Second, there's my Day-Bo ok. It 
 contains each day's engagements so that 
 I can find out at a glance just what we've 
 
 38 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 got to do, and can make out each night 
 before going to bed or early each morn- 
 ing the schedule for Mrs. Burke for the 
 day, and for Senator Burke and the son, 
 I suppose, for the late afternoon and the 
 evening. 
 
 Third, there's the Calling-Book. 
 Already I've got down more than a thou- 
 sand names. The obscurer the w^omen 
 are — the back-district congressmen's 
 w^ives and the like — the greater the 
 necessity for keeping the calling account 
 straight. I wonder how many public 
 men have had their careers injured or 
 ruined just because their wives didn't 
 keep the calling account straight. They 
 say that men forgive slights, and, when 
 it's to their interest, forget them. But 
 I know the women never do. They keep 
 the knife sharp and wait for a chance 
 to stick it in, for years and years. Of 
 
 39 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 course, if the Burkes weren't going into 
 this business in a way that makes me 
 think the Senator's looking for the nom- 
 ination for president I shouldn't be so 
 elaborate. We'd pick out our set and 
 stick to it and ignore the other sets. As 
 it is, I'm going to do this thing thor- 
 oughly, as it hasn't been done before. 
 
 Fourth, there's our Ball-and-Big- 
 Dinner Book. That's got a list of all 
 the young men and another of all the 
 young women. And I'm making notes 
 against the names of those I don't know 
 very well or don't know at all — notes 
 about their personal appearance, eligibil- 
 ity, capacities for dancing, conversation, 
 and so forth and so on. If you're going 
 to make an entertainment a success 
 you've got to know something more or 
 less definite about the people that are 
 coming, whom to ask to certain things 
 40 
 
The Social Secret aG5 
 
 and whom not to ask. Take a man like 
 Phil Harkness, or a girl like Nell Wit- 
 ton, for example. Either of them would 
 ruin a dinner, but Phil shines at a ball, 
 where silence and good steady dancing 
 are what the girls want. As for Nell, 
 she's possible at a ball only if you can be 
 sure John Rush or somebody like him 
 is coming — somebody to sit with her 
 and help her blink at the dancers and 
 be bored. Then there's the Sain Trem- 
 enger e jrt of man — a good talker, but 
 something ruinous when he turns loose 
 in a ball-room and begins to batter the 
 women's toilets to bits. He's a dinner 
 man, but you can't ask him when poli- 
 tics may be discussed — he gets so violent 
 that he not only talks all the time, but 
 makes a deafening clamor and uses swear 
 words — and we still have quiet people 
 who get gooseflesh for damn. 
 
 41 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 Then there's — let mesee,what number 
 — oh, yes — fifth, there's my Acceptance- 
 and-Refusal Book. It's most necessary, 
 both as a direct help and as an indirect 
 check on other books. Then, too, I 
 want it to be impossible to send the 
 Burkes to places they've said they 
 wouldn't go, or for them to be out 
 when they've asked people to come here. 
 Those things usually happen when 
 you've asked some of those dreadful 
 people that everybody always forgets, 
 yet that are sure to be important at 
 some critical time. 
 
 Sixth, there's my Book of Home 
 Entertainments — a small book but most 
 necessary, as arranging entertainments 
 in the packed days of the Washington 
 season isn't easy. 
 
 Seventh, there's the little book with 
 the list of entertainments other people 
 42 
 
The Social Secreta]35 
 
 are going to give. We have to have 
 that so that we can know how to make 
 our plans. And in it I'm going to keep 
 all the information I can get about the 
 engagements of the people we particu- 
 larly want to ask. If I'm not sharp-eyed 
 about that I'll fail in one of my principal 
 duties, which is getting the right sort 
 of people under this roof often enough 
 during the season to give us "distinction." 
 Eighth, there's my Distinguished- 
 Stranger Book. I'm going to make that 
 a specialty. I want to try to know 
 whenever anybody who is anybody is 
 here on a visit, so that we can get hold 
 of him if possible. The White House 
 can get all that sort of information easily 
 because the distinguished stranger 
 always gives the President a chance to 
 get at him. We shall have to make an 
 effort, b'.:* I think we'll succeed. 
 
 43 
 
The Social Secreta^k^ 
 
 Ninth — that's my book for press 
 notices. It's empty now, but I think 
 "pa" Burke will be satisfied long before 
 the season is over. 
 
 Quite a library isn't it? How simple 
 it must be to live in a city like New 
 York or Boston where one bothers only 
 with the people of one set and has 
 practically no bookkeeping beyond a 
 calling list. And here it's getting worse 
 and worse each season. 
 
 Let me see, how many sets are there? 
 There's the set that can say must to us — 
 the White House and the Cabinet and 
 the embassies. Then there's the set we 
 can say must to— a huge, big set and, 
 in a way, important, but there's nobody 
 really important in it. Then there's the 
 still wider lower official set — such people 
 as the under-secretaries of departments, 
 the attaches of embassies, small con- 
 
 44 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 gressmen and the like. Then there's the 
 old Washington aristocracy — my par- 
 ticular crowd. It doesn't amount to 
 "shucks," as Mrs. Burke would say, but 
 everybody tries to be on good terms 
 with it. Lord knows why. Finally, 
 there's the set of unofficial people — the 
 rich or otherwise distinguished who live 
 in Washington and must be cultivated. 
 And we're going to gather in all of 
 them, so as not to miss a trick. 
 
 The first one of the Burkes to whom 
 I showed my books and explained my- 
 self in full was "ma" Burke. She looked 
 as if she had been taken with a "misery," 
 as she calls it. "Lord! Lord!" she 
 groaned. "Whatever have I got my 
 fool self into?" 
 
 I laughed and assured her that it was 
 nothing at all. "I'm only showing you 
 my work. All you've got to do is to 
 
 45 
 
The* Social Secreta©5 
 
 carry out each day's work. I'll see to 
 it that you won't even have to bother 
 about what clothes to wear, unless you 
 want to. You'll be perfectly free to 
 enjoy yourself." 
 
 "Enjoy myself?" said she. "Why, 
 I'll be on the jump from morning till 
 night." 
 
 "From morning till morning again," 
 I corrected. "The men sleep in Wash- 
 ington. But the women with social 
 duties have no time for sleep — only for 
 naps." 
 
 " I reckon it'll hardly be worth while 
 to undress for bed," she said grimly. 
 "I'm going to have the bed taken out 
 of my room. It'd drive me crazy to 
 look at it. Such a good bed, too. I 
 always was a great hand for a good bed. 
 I've often said to pa that you can't put 
 too much value into a bed — and by bed 
 46 
 
The Social Secret a^j 
 
 I don't mean headboard and footboard, 
 nor canopy nor any other fixings. What 
 do you think of my hair?" 
 
 I was a bit startled by her sudden 
 change of subject. I waited. 
 
 "Don't mind me — speak right out," 
 she said with her good-natured twinkle. 
 "You might think it wasn't my hair, 
 but it is. The color's not, though, as 
 you may be surprised to hear." The 
 "surprised" was broadly satirical. 
 
 "I prefer natural hair," said I, "and 
 gray hair is most becoming. It makes a 
 woman look younger, not older." 
 
 "That's sensible," said she. "I never 
 did care for bottled hair. I think it 
 looks bad from the set-ofF, and gets 
 worse. The widow Pfizer in our town 
 got so that hers was bright green after 
 she bottled it for two years, trying to 
 catch old man Coakley. And after she 
 
 47 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 caught him she bottled his, and it turned 
 out green, too, after a while." 
 
 "Why run such a risk?" said I. "I'm 
 sure your own hair done as your maid 
 can do it would be far more becoming." 
 
 Mrs. Burke was delighted. "I might 
 have known better," she observed, "but 
 I found Mr. Burke bottling his beard, 
 and he wanted me to; and it seemed to 
 me that somehow bottled hair just fitted 
 right in with all the rest of this foolish- 
 ness here. How they would rear round 
 at home if they knew what kind of a 
 place Washington is! Why, I hear that 
 up at the White House, when the Presi- 
 dent leaves the table for a while during 
 meals, all the ladies — women, I mean 
 — his wife and all of them, have to rise 
 and stand till he comes back." 
 
 "Yes," I replied. "He's started that 
 custom. I like ceremony, don't you?" 
 48 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 "No, I can't say that I do," she 
 drawled. "Out home all the drones and 
 pokes and nobodies are just crazy about 
 getting out in feathers and red plush 
 aprons and clanking and pawing round, 
 trying to make out they're somebody. 
 And I've always noticed that whenever 
 anybody that is a somebody hankers after 
 that sort of thing it's because he's got a 
 streak of nobody in him. No, I don't 
 like it in Cal Walters out home, and I 
 don't like it in the President." 
 
 "We've got to do as the other capi- 
 tals do," said I. "Naturally, as we get 
 more and more ambassadors, and a big- 
 ger army, and the President more power- 
 ful, we become like the European 
 courts. And the President is simply 
 making a change abruptly that'd have 
 to come gradually anyhow." 
 
 Her eyes began to twinkle. "First 
 
 49 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 thing you know, the country'll turn loose 
 a herd of steers from the prairies in this 
 town, and — But, long as it's here, I 
 suppose I've got to abide by it. So I'll 
 do whatever you say. It'll be a poor do, 
 without my trying to find fault." 
 
 And she's being as good as her word. 
 She makes me tell her exactly what to 
 do. She is so beautifully simple and 
 ladylike in her frank confessions of her 
 ignorance — just as the Queen of Eng- 
 land would be if she were to land on 
 the planet Mars and have to learn the 
 ways — the surface ways, I mean. I've 
 no doubt that outside of a few frills 
 which silly people make a great fuss 
 about, a lady is a lady from one end of 
 the universe to the other. 
 
 I'm making the rounds of my friends 
 with Mrs. Burke in this period of wait- 
 ing for the season to begin. And she 
 
 5° 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 sits mum and keeps her eyes moving. 
 She's rapidly picking up the right way 
 to say things — that is, the self-assurance 
 to say things in her own way. I took 
 her among my friends first because I 
 wanted her to realize that I was abso- 
 lutely right in urging her to naturalness. 
 There are so many in the different sets 
 she'll be brought into contact with who 
 are ludicrously-self-conscious. Certainly, 
 there's much truth in what she says 
 about the new order. We Americans 
 don't do the European sort of thing 
 well, and, while the old way wasn't 
 pretty to look at it, it was — it was our 
 own. However, I'm merely a social 
 secretary, dealing with what is, and not 
 bothering my head about what ought 
 to be. And as for the Burkes, they're 
 here to take advantage of what is, not 
 to revolutionize things. 
 
 51 
 
The Social Secret a?^ 
 
 Mr. Burke himself was the next mem- 
 ber of the family at whom I got a chance 
 with my great plans. When he had got 
 it all out of me he began to pace up and 
 down the floor, pulling at his whiskers, 
 and evidently thinking. Finally he 
 looked at me in a kindly, sharp way, 
 and, in a voice I recognized at once as 
 the voice of the Thomas Burke who 
 had been able to pile up a fortune and 
 buy into the Senate, said: 
 
 "I double your salary. Miss Tall- 
 towers. And I hope you understand 
 that expense isn't to be considered in 
 carrying out your program. I want you 
 to act just as if this were all for your- 
 self. And if we succeed I think you'll 
 find I'm not ungenerous." And before 
 I could try to thank him he was gone. 
 
 The last member was "Bucyrus." 
 As I knew his parents wished to be alone 
 
 52 
 
The Social SecxeiaiQ^ 
 
 with him at first I kept out of the way, 
 breakfasting in my rooms, lunching and 
 dining out a great deal. What little I 
 saw of him I didn't like. He ignored 
 me most of the time — and I, for ona 
 woman, don't like to be ignored by any 
 man. When he did speak to me it was 
 as they speak to the governess in fami- 
 lies where they haven't been used to 
 very much for very long. Perhaps this 
 piqued me a little, but it certainly 
 amused me, and I spoke to him in an 
 humble, deferential way that seemed 
 somehow to make him uneasy. 
 
 It was day before yesterday that he 
 came into my office about an hour after 
 luncheon. He tried to look very digni- 
 fied and superior. 
 
 "Miss Talltowers," he said, "I must 
 request you to refrain from calling me 
 sir whenever you address me." 
 
 53 
 
The Social SecieiaiQ^ 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," I replied 
 meekly, "but I have never addressed 
 you. I hope I know my place and my 
 duty better than that. Oh, no, sir, I 
 have always waited to be spoken to." 
 
 He blazed a furious red. "I must 
 request you," he said, with his speech 
 at its most fancy-work like, "not to 
 continue your present manner toward 
 me. Why, the very servants are laugh- 
 ing at me." 
 
 "Oh, sir," I said earnestly, "I'm sure 
 that's not my fault." And I didn't spoil 
 it by putting accent on the "that" and 
 the "my." 
 
 He got as pale as he had been red. 
 "Are you trying to make it impossible 
 for us to remain under the same roof?" 
 he demanded. What a spoiled stupid! 
 
 "I'm sure, sir," said T, and I think 
 my eyes must have shown what an un- 
 
 54 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 pleasant mood his hinted threat had put 
 me in, "that I'm not even succeeding 
 in making it impossible for us to remain 
 in my private office at the same time. 
 Do you understand me, or do you wish 
 me to make my meaning — " 
 
 He had given a sort of snort and had 
 rushed from the room. 
 
 I suppose I ought to be more chari- 
 table toward him. A small person, 
 brought up to regard himself as a sort 
 of god, and able to buy flattery, and per- 
 mitted to act precisely as his humors 
 might suggest — what is to be expected 
 of such a man? No, not a man but boy, 
 for he's only twenty-six. Only twenty- 
 six! One would think I was forty to 
 hear me talking in that way of twenty- 
 six. But women always seem older than 
 men who are even many years older 
 than they. And how having to earn 
 
 SS 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 my own bread has aged me inside! I 
 think Jessie was right when she said in 
 that solemn way of hers, "And although, 
 dear Augusta, they may think you 
 haven't brains enough, I assure you 
 you'll develop them." Poor, dear Jessie ! 
 How she would amuse herself if she 
 could be as she is, and also have a sense 
 of humor ! 
 
 At any rate, Mr. Bucyrus came strid- 
 ing back after half an hour, and, rather 
 surlily but with a certain grudging man- 
 liness, said: "I beg your pardon. Miss 
 Talltowers, for what I said. I am 
 ashamed of my having forgotten myself 
 and made that tyrannical speech to you." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said I, without 
 raising my eyes. "You are most gra- 
 cious." 
 
 "And I hope," he went on, "that you 
 will try to treat me as an equal." 
 
 56 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 "It'll be very hard to do that, sir," 
 said I. And I lifted my eyes and let 
 him see that I was laughing at him. 
 
 He shifted uneasily, red and white by 
 turns. "I think you understand me," 
 he muttered. 
 
 "Perfectly," said I. 
 
 He waved his arm impatiently. 
 "Please don't!" he exclaimed rather 
 imperiously. "I could have got my 
 mother to — " 
 
 "I hope you won't complain of me 
 to your mother," I pleaded. 
 
 He flushed and snorted, like a horse 
 that is being teased by a fly it can reach 
 with neither teeth, hoofs nor tail. "You 
 know I didn't mean that. I'm not an 
 utter cad — now, don't say, 'Aren't you, 
 sir?' " 
 
 "I had no intention of doing so," 
 said I. "In fact I've been trying to 
 
 S7 
 
The Social Secret aG5 
 
 make allowances for you — for your 
 mother's sake. I appreciate that you've 
 been away from civilization for a long 
 time. And I'm sure we shall get on 
 comfortably, once you've got your bear- 
 ings again." 
 
 He was silent, stood biting his lips 
 and looking out of the window. Pres- 
 ently, when I had resumed my work, 
 he said in an endurable tone and man- 
 ner: "I hope you will be kind enough 
 to include me in that admirable social 
 scheme of yours. Are those your 
 books?" 
 
 I explained them to him as briefly 
 as I could. I had no intention of mak- 
 ing myself obnoxious, but on the other 
 hand I did not, and do not purpose to 
 go out of my way to be courteous to 
 this silly of an overgrown, spoiled baby. 
 He tried to be nice in praise of my 
 
 S8 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 system, but I got rid of him as soon as 
 I had explained all that my obligations 
 as social secretary to the family required. 
 He thanked me as he was leaving and 
 said, in his most gracious tone, "I shall 
 see that my father raises your salary." 
 
 I fairly gasped at the impudence of 
 this, but before I could collect myself 
 properly to deal with him he was gone. 
 Perhaps it was just as well. I must be 
 careful not to be "sensitive" — that 
 would make me as ridiculous as he is. 
 
 And that's the man Jim Lafollette is 
 fairly smoking with jealousy of! He 
 was dining at Rachel's last night, and 
 Rachel put him next me. He couldn't 
 keep off the subject of "that young 
 Burke." Jessie overheard him after a 
 while and leaned round and said to me, 
 "How do you and young Mr. Burke 
 get on?" in her "strictly private" man- 
 
 59 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 ner — Jessie's strictly private manner is 
 about as private as the Monument. 
 
 "Not badly," I replied, to punish Jim. 
 "We're gradually getting acquainted." 
 
 Jim sneered under his mustache. "It's 
 the most shameful scheme two vi^omen 
 ever put up," he said, as if he were 
 joking. 
 
 "Oh, has Jessie told you?" I ex- 
 claimed, pretending to be concealing 
 my vexation. 
 
 "It's the talk of the town," he 
 answered, showing his teeth in a grin 
 that was all fury and no fun. 
 
 There may be women idiots enough 
 to marry a man who warns them in 
 advance that he's rabidly jealous, but 
 I'm not one of them. Better a crust 
 in quietness. 
 
 60 
 
Ill 
 
 DECEMBER 27. Three weeks 
 simply boiling with business 
 since I wrote here — and it seems 
 not more than so many days. And all 
 by way of preparation, for the actual 
 season is still five days away. 
 
 I can hardly realize that Mrs. Burke 
 is the same person I looked at so dubi- 
 ously two days less than a month ago. 
 Truly, the right sort of us Americans 
 are wonderful people. To begin with 
 her appearance: her hair isn't "bottled," 
 as she called it, any more. It's beauti- 
 61 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 ful iron-gray, and softens her features 
 and permits all the placid kindliness and 
 humor of her face to show. Then there's 
 her dress — gracious, how tight-looking 
 she was ! A thin woman can, and should, 
 wear close things. But no woman who 
 wishes to look like a lady must ever 
 wear anything tight. To be tight in one's 
 clothes is to be tight in one's talk, man- 
 ner, thought — and that means — well, 
 common. What an expressive word 
 "common" is, yet I'm sure I couldn't 
 define it. 
 
 For a fat woman to be tight is — 
 revolting! My idea of misery is a fat 
 woman in a tight waist and tight shoes. 
 Yet fat women have a mania for wear- 
 ing tight things, just as gaunt women 
 yearn for stripes and short women for 
 flounces. My first move in getting Mrs. 
 Burke into shape — after doing away 
 62 
 
The Social Secret a©$ 
 
 with that dreadful "bottled" hair — was 
 to put her into comfortable clothes. 
 The first time I got her into an evening 
 dress of the right sort I was rewarded 
 for all my trouble by her expression. 
 She kissed me with tears in her eyes. 
 "My dear," said she, "never before did 
 I have a best dress that I wasn't afraid 
 to breathe in for fear I'd bust out, back 
 or front." Then I made her sit down 
 before her long glass and look at her- 
 self carefully. She had the prettiest kind 
 of color in her cheeks as she smiled at 
 me and said: "If I'd 'a' looked like this 
 when I was young I reckon Mr. Burke 
 wouldn't 'a' been so easy in his mind 
 when he went away from home, nor 
 'a' stayed so long. I always did sympa- 
 thize with pretty women when they 
 capered round, but now I wonder they 
 ever do sober down. If I weighed a hun- 
 
 ^3 
 
The Social SecxeiaiQ^ 
 
 dred pounds or so less I do believe I'd 
 try to frisk yet." 
 
 And I do believe she could; for she's 
 really a handsome woman. Why is it 
 that the women who have the most to 
 them don't give it a chance to show 
 through, but get themselves up so that 
 anybody who glances at them tries 
 never to look again? 
 
 It is the change in her appearance 
 even more than all she's learned that 
 has given her self-confidence. She feels 
 at ease — and that puts her at ease, and 
 puts everybody else at ease, too. It has 
 reacted upon Mr. Burke. He has 
 dropped brilliantine — perhaps "ma" 
 gave him a quiet hint — and he has taken 
 some lessons in dress from "Cyrus," who 
 really gets himself up very well, con- 
 sidering that he has lived in Germany 
 for three years. I should have hopes 
 64 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 that "pa" would blossom out into some- 
 thing very attractive socially if he 
 hadn't a deep-seated notion that he is 
 a great joker. A naturally serious man 
 who tries to be funny is about the most 
 painful object in civilization. Still, 
 Washington is full of statesmen and 
 scholars who try to unbend and be 
 "light," especially with "the ladies." 
 Nothing makes me — or any other 
 woman, I suppose — so angry as for a 
 man to show that he takes me for a fool 
 by making a grinning galoot of himself 
 whenever he talks to me. Bucyrus is 
 much that kind of ass. He alternates 
 between solemnity and silliness. 
 
 I said rather pointedly to him the 
 other night: "You men with your great, 
 deep minds make a mistake in chang- 
 ing your manner when you talk with 
 the women and the children. Nothing 
 
 65 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 pleases us so much as to be taken seri- 
 ously." But it didn't touch him. How- 
 ever, he's hardly to blame. He's spent 
 a great many years round institutions of 
 learning, and in those places, I've no- 
 ticed, every one has a musty, fusty sense 
 of humor. Probably it comes from 
 cackling at classical jokes that have 
 laughed themselves as dry as a mummy. 
 We've been giving a few entertain- 
 ments — informal and not large, but 
 highly important. I had two objects in 
 mind: In the first place, to get Mr. and 
 Mrs. Burke accustomed to the style of 
 hospitality they've got to give if they're 
 going to win out. In the second place, 
 to get certain of the kind of people who 
 are necessary to us in the habit of com- 
 ing to this house — and those people are 
 not so very hard to get hold of now; 
 later they'll be engaged day and night. 
 
 66 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 For two weeks now I've had my two 
 especial features going. One of them 
 is for the men, the other for the women. 
 And I can see already that they alone 
 would carry us through triumphantly; 
 for they've caught on. 
 
 My men's feature is a breakfast. I 
 engaged a particularly good cook — the 
 best old-fashioned Southern cook in 
 Washington. Rachel had her, and I 
 persuaded Mr. Derby to consent to giv- 
 ing her up to us, just for this season. 
 Cleopatra — that's her name — has noth- 
 ing to do but get together every morn- 
 ing by nine o'clock the grandest kind 
 of an old-fashioned American breakfast. 
 And I explained to Senator Burke that 
 he was to invite some of his colleagues, 
 as many as he liked, and tell them to 
 come any morning, or every morning 
 if they wished, and bring their friends. 
 67 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 I consult with Cleopatra every day 
 as to what she's to have the next morn- 
 ing; and I think dear old father taught 
 me what kind of breakfast men like. I 
 don't give them too much, or they'd 
 be afraid to come and risk indigestion 
 a second time. I see to it that every- 
 thing is perfectly cooked — and it's pretty 
 hard for any man to get indigestion, 
 even from corned beef hash and hot 
 cornbread and buckwheat cakes with 
 maple syrup, if it's perfectly cooked and 
 is eaten in a cheerful frame of mind. 
 No women are permitted at these break- 
 fasts — just men, with everything free 
 and easy, plenty to smoke, separate tables, 
 but each large enough so that there's 
 always room at any one of them for one 
 more who might otherwise be uncom- 
 fortable. Even now we have from 
 fifteen to twenty men — among them 
 
 68 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 the very best in Washington. In the 
 season we'll have thirty and forty, and 
 our house will be a regular club from 
 nine to eleven for just the right men. 
 
 My other big feature is an informal 
 dance every Wednesday night. It's 
 already as great a success in its way as 
 the breakfasts are in theirs. I've been 
 rather careful about whom I let Mrs. 
 Burke invite to come in on Wednesdays 
 whenever they like. The result is that 
 everybody is pleased; the affairs seem to 
 be "exclusive," yet are not. I know it 
 will do the Burkes a world of good 
 politically, because a certain kind of 
 people who are important politically 
 but have had no chance socially are 
 coming to us on Wednesdays, and that's 
 just the kind of people who are frantic- 
 ally flattered by the idea that they are 
 "in the push." 
 
 69 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 Speaking of being "in the push," 
 there are two ways of getting there if 
 one isn't there. One is to worm your 
 way in; the other is to make yourself 
 the head and front of "the push." 
 That's the way for those who have 
 money and know how. And that's the 
 way the Burkes are getting in — getting 
 in at the front instead of at the rear. 
 
 It's most gratifying to see how Mr. 
 Burke treats me. He always has been 
 deferential, but he now shows that he 
 thinks I have real brains. And since his 
 breakfasts have become the talk of the 
 town and are "patronized" by the men 
 he's so eager to get hold of, he is even 
 consulting me about his business. I am 
 criticizing for him now a speech he's 
 going to make on the canal question 
 next month — a dreadfully dull speech, 
 and' I don't feel competent to tell him 
 
 TO 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 what to do with it. I think I'll advise 
 him not to make it, tell him his forte 
 is diplomacy — winning men round by 
 personal dealing with them — which is 
 the truth. 
 
 Young Mr. Burke — after a period of 
 unbending — is now shyer than ever. I 
 wondered why, until it happened to oc- 
 cur to me one day as I was talking with 
 Jessie. I suddenly said to her: "Jessie, 
 did you ever tell Nadeshda that you had 
 planned to marry me to Cyrus Burke?" 
 
 She hopped about in her chair a bit, 
 as uneasy as a bird on a swaying perch. 
 Then she confessed that she "might have 
 suggested before Nadeshda what a de- 
 lightfully satisfactory thing it would be." 
 
 I laughed to relieve her mind — also 
 because it amused me to see through 
 Nadeshda. 
 
 Of course, one of the women I needed 
 
 71 
 
The Social Secxeia.13^ 
 
 most in this Burke campaign was Na- 
 deshda. And I happened to know that 
 she is bent on marrying a rich Ameri- 
 can — indeed, that's the only reason why 
 the wilds of America are favored with 
 the presence of the beautiful, joy-loving, 
 courted and adored Baroness Nadeshda 
 Daragane. The yarn about her sister, 
 the ambassadress, being an invalid and 
 shrinking from the heavy social respon- 
 sibilities of the embassy is just so much 
 trash. So, as soon as "Cyrus" came I 
 went over to see her, and, as diplomat- 
 ically as I knew how, displayed before 
 her dazzled eyes the substantial advan- 
 tages of the sole heir of the great West- 
 ern multi-millionaire. 
 
 As I went on to tell how generous 
 the Senator is, and how certain he would 
 be to lavish wealth upon his daughter- 
 in-law, I could see her mind at work. 
 72 
 
The Social Secret a©^ 
 
 A fascinating, naughty, treacherous lit- 
 tle mind it is — like a small Swiss watch 
 of the rarest workmanship and full of 
 wheels within wheels. And she's a 
 beautiful little creature, as warm as a 
 tropical sun to look at, and about as 
 cold as the Arctic regions to deal with. 
 No, I haven't begun to describe her. 
 I'd not be surprised to hear that she had 
 eloped with her brother-in-law's coach- 
 man; nor should I be surprised to hear 
 that she had married the most hideous, 
 revolting man in the world for his money, 
 and was suspected of being engaged in 
 trying to hasten him off to the grave. 
 She's of the queer sort that would kiss 
 or kill with equal enthusiasm, capable 
 of almost any virtue or vice — on impulse. 
 If there's any part of her beneath the 
 impulsive part it's solid ice in a frame 
 of steel. But — is there? She's talked 
 
 73 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 about a good deal — not a tenth enough 
 to satisfy her craving for notoriety, and, 
 I may add, not a tenth part so much as 
 she deserves to be, and would be if we 
 studied character on this side of the 
 water instead of being too busy with 
 ourselves to look beyond anybody else's 
 surface. 
 
 Well, the Baroness Nadeshda has been 
 wild about the Burkes ever since we had 
 our talk. And she has Mr. Cyrus thor- 
 oughly tangled in her nets, and the Sen- 
 ator, too. And, naturally, she lost no 
 time in trying to "do" me. She has 
 told Bucyrus what a designing creature 
 I am — no doubt has warned him that if 
 I seem distant to him I'm at my dead- 
 liest, and to look out for mines. He 
 certainly is looking out for them, for, 
 whenever I speak to him, he acts as if 
 he were stepping round on a volcano. 
 
 74 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 I'm having a good deal of fun with 
 him. I wish I had the time; I'd try to 
 teach him a very valuable lesson. Really, 
 it's a shame to let a man go through life 
 imagining that he's an all-conqueror, 
 when in reality the woman who marries 
 him will feel that she's swallowing about 
 as bitter a dose as Fate ever presented 
 to feminine lips in a gold spoon. 
 
 Dear old "ma" Burke hasn't yet 
 yielded to Nadeshda's blandishments. 
 We went to the embassy to call yester- 
 day afternoon at tea-time, and I saw her 
 watching Nadeshda in that smiling, 
 simple way of hers that conceals about 
 as keen a brain as I shouldn't care to 
 have tearing me to pieces for inspection. 
 
 The embassy at tea-time is always 
 wild. For then Sophie comes in with 
 her monkey and Nadeshda's seven dogs 
 are racing about. And the Count always 
 
 7S 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 laughs loudly, usually at nothing at all. 
 And each time he laughs the dogs bark 
 until the monkey in a great fright dashes 
 up the curtains or flings himself at Sophie 
 and almost strangles her with his paws 
 or arms, or whatever they are, round 
 her neck. I don't think I've ever been 
 there that something hasn't been spilt 
 for a huge mess; often the whole tea- 
 table topples over. Mrs. Burke loves to 
 go, for afterward she laughs a dozen 
 times a day until her sides ache. 
 
 As we came away yesterday I said to 
 her: "What a fascinating, beautiful 
 creature Nadeshda is!" 
 
 Mrs. Burke smiled. "When I was a 
 girl," she said, "I had a catamount for 
 a pet — a cub, and they had cut his 
 claws. He was beautiful and mighty 
 fascinating — you never did know when 
 he was going to fawn on you and when 
 76 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 he was going to fasten his teeth in you. 
 The baroness puts me in mind of my 
 old pet, and how I didn't know which 
 was harder — to keep him or to give 
 him up." 
 
 "She certainly has a strange nature," 
 said I. 
 
 After a pause Mrs. Burke went on: 
 "She's the queerest animal in this me- 
 nagerie here, so far as I've seen. And I 
 don't think I'm wrong in suspecting 
 she's sitting up to Cyrus." 
 
 "I don't wonder he finds her inter- 
 esting," said I. 
 
 "Cyrus is just like his pa," said she, 
 "a mighty poor judge of women. It 
 was lucky for his pa that he married 
 and settled down before he had much 
 glitter to catch the eyes of the women. 
 Otherwise, he'd 'a' made a ridiculous 
 fool of himself. But I like a man the 
 
 17 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 women can fool easy. That shows he's 
 honest. These fellows who are so sharp 
 at getting on to the tricks of the women 
 ain't, as a rule, good for much else. But 
 Cyrus has got me to look after him." 
 
 "He might do much worse than 
 marry Nadeshda," said I. 
 
 "That's what his pa says," she replied. 
 "But I ain't got round to these new- 
 fashioned notions of marriage. I want 
 to see my Cyrus married to the sort of 
 woman his ma'd like and be proud to 
 have for the mother of her grand-chil- 
 dren. And I ain't altogether sure we 
 need the kind of tone in our blood that 
 a catamount' d bring. Though I must 
 say a year or so of living with a cata- 
 mount might do Cyrus a world of good." 
 
 Which shows that even love can't 
 altogether blind "ma" Burke. 
 
 January 3. I had to do a little schem- 
 
 78 
 
The Social Secret a^kS 
 
 ing to get Mrs. Burke an invitation to 
 assist at the New Year's reception. It's 
 always the first event of the season, and, 
 though it would have been no great 
 matter if I hadn't been able to get her 
 in among those who stand near the 
 President's wife and the Cabinet women, 
 still I felt that I couldn't get my "pulls" 
 into working order any too soon. Ever 
 since the second week in my "job" I've 
 realized that nothing could be easier than 
 to put the Burkes well to the front, but 
 my ambition to make them first calls for 
 the exertion of every energy. 
 
 So, in the third week of December I 
 set Rachel at Mrs. Senator Lumley and 
 Mrs. Admiral Bixby — two women who 
 can get almost anything in reason out 
 of the President's wife. Rachel is about 
 the most important woman in the old 
 Washington aristocracy, and the Lum- 
 
 79 
 
The Social Secret ao^ 
 
 leys and the Bixbys are in the nature of 
 fixtures here, not at all like an evanes- 
 cent President or Cabinet person. So 
 Rachel's request set the two women to 
 work. And although the President's 
 wife said she'd asked all she intended to 
 ask, far too many, and didn't see why 
 on earth she should be beset for a new- 
 comer who had been reported to her 
 as fat and impossible, still she finally 
 yielded. 
 
 I hadn't hoped to get an invitation 
 for them for the Cabinet dinner, and I 
 was astounded when it came. We had 
 arranged to give a rather large informal 
 dinner that night and had to call it off, 
 as an invitation from the White House, 
 even from the obscurest member of the 
 President's family for any old function 
 whatever, is a command that may not 
 be disobeyed. Well, as I was saying, the 
 
 80 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 invitation to the Cabinet dinner came 
 unsought. It seems that the Burke 
 breakfasts are making a great stir polit- 
 ically; so great a stir that they have 
 made the President a little uneasy. Of 
 course, the best way to get rid of an 
 opponent is to conciliate him. Hence 
 the royal command to Senator and Mrs. 
 Burke to appear at his Majesty's dinner 
 to his Majesty's ministers. 
 
 Mrs. Burke is tremendously proud of 
 her first two communications from the 
 White House. As for the Senator, he 
 looks at them half a dozen times a day. 
 
 I went down to the New Year's re- 
 ception to see how "ma" was getting 
 on. As I had expected, she didn't stand 
 very long. She cast about for a chair, 
 and, seeing one, planted herself. Soon 
 the Baroness joined her, and young 
 Prince Krepousky joined Nadeshda, and 
 8i 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 then General Martin, who loves Mrs. 
 Burke for the feeds she gives. The 
 group grew, and Mrs. Burke began to 
 talk in her drawling, humorous way, 
 and Nadeshda laughed, which made the 
 others laugh — for it's impossible to 
 resist Nadeshda. When I arrived Mrs. 
 Burke was "right in it." 
 
 And after a while the President came 
 and said: "Is this your reception, madam, 
 or is it mine?" At which there was 
 more laughing, he raising a great guffaw 
 and slapping his hip with his powerful 
 hand. Then they all went up to have 
 something to eat, and the President spent 
 most of the time with her. 
 
 She doesn't need any more coaching. 
 Of course, she's flattered by her success. 
 But instead of having her head turned, 
 as most women do who get the least bit 
 of especial attention from the conspicu- 
 82 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 ous men here, she takes it all very plac- 
 idly. "They don't care shucks for me," 
 she says, "and I know it. We're all in 
 business together, and I'm mighty glad 
 it can be carried on so cheerful-like." 
 At the Cabinet dinner, to-morrow night, 
 she'll have to sit well down toward the 
 foot of the table. But she won't mind 
 that. Indeed, if I hadn't been giving 
 her lessons in precedence she wouldn't 
 have an idea that everything here is 
 arranged by rank. 
 
 Jessie — so she tells me — had a half- 
 hour's session with "Cyrus" the other 
 day and gave him a very exalted idea of 
 my social position and influence. No 
 doubt, what she said confirmed his sus- 
 picion that I and my friends are con- 
 spiring against him; but I observe a 
 distinct change in his manner toward 
 me. He's even humble. I suppose he 
 
 83 
 
The Social Secreta^ 
 
 thought I was some miserable creature 
 whom his mother had taken on, half 
 out of charity. I'm afraid I have a sort 
 of family pride that's a little ridiculous 
 — but I can't help it. Still, I am Amer- 
 ican enough to despise people who are 
 courteous or otherwise, according as they 
 look up to or look down on the particular 
 person's family and position, I guess 
 young Mr. Burke is his father in an ag- 
 gravated form. Yet Jessie, and Rachel, 
 too, pretend to like him. And probably 
 they really do — it's not hard to like any 
 one who is not asking favors and is in 
 a position to grant them, and isn't so 
 near to one that his quills stick into one. 
 The Countess of Wend came in to 
 see me this afternoon and told me all 
 about the row over at the legation. It 
 seems that the new minister is a plebeian, 
 and in their country people of his sort 
 
 84 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 aren't noticed by the upper classes un- 
 less an upper-class man happens to need 
 something to wipe his boots on and one 
 of them is convenient for use. Well, 
 every attach^ is in a fury, and none of 
 them w^ill speak to the minister except 
 in the most formal way and only when 
 it's absolutely necessary. As for the 
 minister's wife, the other women — 
 but what's the use of describing it; we 
 all know how nasty women can be about 
 matters of rank. The Count is talking 
 seriously of resigning. I'd be dread- 
 fully sorry, as Eugenie is a dear, more 
 like an American than a foreigner; and 
 I believe she really likes us, where most 
 of them privately despise us as a lot of 
 low-born upstarts. I know they laugh 
 all day long at the President's queer 
 manners and mannerisms — but then, so 
 do we, for that matter. And it's quite 
 
 85 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 unusual for Washington, where each 
 President is bowed down to and praised 
 everywhere and flattered till he thinks 
 he's a sort of god — and forgotten as 
 soon as his term is ended. I suppose 
 there's nothing deader on this earth 
 than an ex-President, with no offices to 
 distribute and no hopes for a further 
 political career. 
 
 January 9. We had a beautiful din- 
 ner here last night — very brilliant too, 
 as we all were going to a ball at the 
 Russian embassy afterward. All the 
 diplomats and army men were in uni- 
 form — and one or two of the army men 
 were really brilliant. But none of the 
 diplomats. They say that no nation 
 sends us its best or even its second best. 
 It seems that diplomats don't amount 
 to much in this day of cables. Those 
 who have any intelligence naturally go 
 86 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 to courts, where the atmosphere is con- 
 genial and where there are chances for 
 decorations. So we get only the stiffs 
 and stuffs — with a few exceptions. If it 
 weren't for their women — 
 
 But, to return to our dinner — Mrs. 
 Burke went in with the German am- 
 bassador, and I saw that they were get- 
 ting on famously. He is a very clever 
 man in a small way, and has almost an 
 American sense of humor. As soon as 
 he saw that she intended what she said 
 to be laughed at he gave himself up to 
 it. "Your Mrs. Burke is charming. 
 Miss Talltowers," said he to me after 
 dinner. "She ranks with Bret Harte 
 and Mark Twain. It's only in Amer- 
 ica that you find old women who make 
 you forget to wish you were with young 
 and pretty women." 
 
 Jim LafoUette took me in — the first 
 
 87 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 time I've had him here. I must say he 
 behaved very well and was the hand- 
 somest man in the room. But he never 
 has much to say that is worth hearing. 
 Though conversation at Washington in 
 society isn't on any too high a plane, 
 as a rule — how could conversation in a 
 mixed society anywhere be very high? 
 — still it isn't the wishy-washy chatter 
 and gossip that Jim Lafollette delights 
 in. Of course, army officers almost 
 always go in for gossip — that comes 
 from sitting round with their women 
 at lonely posts where nothing occurs. 
 And they, as a rule, either gossip or 
 simply drivel when they talk to women, 
 because all the women that ever liked 
 them liked them for their brass buttons, 
 and all the women they ever liked they 
 liked for their pretty faces and empty 
 heads. So, usually, to get an army of- 
 88 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 ficer at dinner is to sit with a bowl of 
 soft taffy held to your lips and a huge 
 spoonful of it thrust into your mouth 
 every time you stop talking. That's 
 true of many of the statesmen, too, es- 
 pecially the heavyweights. I suppose 
 I'm wrong, but I can't help suspecting 
 a man without a sense of humor of be- 
 ing a solemn fraud. 
 
 You'd think American women, at the 
 capital, at least, would be interested in 
 politics. But they're not. They say it's 
 the vulgarity of the intriguing and of 
 most of the best intriguers that makes 
 them dislike politics, even here. I suspect 
 there's another reason. We women are 
 so petted by the men that we don't have 
 to know anything to make ourselves 
 agreeable. If we're pretty and listen 
 well that's all that's necessary. So, why 
 get headaches learning things .? 
 
 89 
 
The ;Social Secret a©5 
 
 Of course, there are exceptions. Take 
 Maggie Shotwell. Her husband is a 
 wag-eared ass. Yet in eleven years she 
 has advanced him from second secretary 
 to minister to a second-class power just 
 by showing up here at intervals and 
 playing the game intelligently. And 
 there are scores of army women who do 
 as well in a smaller way, and a few of 
 the diplomats' wives are most adroit, 
 intriguing well both here and at their 
 homes in a nice, clean way, as intrigue 
 goes. 
 
 But most of the women are like 
 "ma" Burke, who'd as soon think of 
 entering for a foot-race as of interfering 
 in her husband's political affairs in any 
 way, beyond giving him some sound 
 advice about the men that can be trusted 
 and the men that can't. I suppose if 
 there were real careers in public life in 
 90 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 this country, not dependent upon elec- 
 tions, the Washington women wouldn't 
 be so lazy and indifferent, but would 
 wake up and intrigue their brothers and 
 sons and other male relatives into all 
 sorts of things. Then, too, a man has 
 to vote with his "party" on everything 
 that's important, and his "party" is a 
 small group of old men who are beyond 
 social blandishments and go to bed early 
 every night and associate only with men 
 in the daytime. 
 
 No, we women don't amount to much 
 directly at Washington. If Jim Lafol- 
 lette had kept away from the women 
 and society he might have amounted 
 to something. It's become a proverb 
 that whenever a young man comes here 
 and goes in for the social end of it he 
 is doomed soon to disappear and be 
 heard of no more. The President is try- 
 
 91 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 ing to make society amount to some- 
 thing, but he won't succeed. Whatever 
 benefit there may be in it will go, not 
 to him, but to men like Senator Burke. 
 He doesn't go any more than he can 
 help, except to his own breakfasts. But 
 he sends his wife, and so, without wast- 
 ing any of his time, he makes himself 
 prominent in a very short space of time 
 and gets all the big social indirect in- 
 fluence — the influence of the women on 
 their husbands. 
 
 Mrs. Burke's younger brother, Robert 
 Gunton, arrived last night. He reminds 
 me of her, but he's slender and very act- 
 ive — a shabby sort of person, clean but 
 careless, and he looks as if he had so 
 many other things to think about that 
 he hadn't time to think about himself. 
 He looks younger and talks older than 
 his years. He's hefe to get some sort 
 92 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 of patent through; he won't permit his 
 brother-in-law to assist him; he refuses 
 to go anywhere — in society, I mean. 
 We rode up to the Capitol together in a 
 street-car this morning, and I liked him. 
 
 "Why do you ride in a street-car?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Because it's not considered good 
 form to use carriages too much," I re- 
 plied. "It might rouse the envy of 
 those who can't afford carriages." 
 
 "Then it isn't because you don't want 
 to, but because you don't dare to?" 
 
 "Yes," said I. "But things are chang- 
 ing rapidly. The rich people who live 
 here but care nothing for politics are 
 gradually introducing class distinctions." 
 
 "You mean, poor people who like to 
 fawn upon and hate the rich are intro- 
 ducing class distinctions," he corrected. 
 
 He is thirty-two years old; he treats 
 
 93 
 
The Social Secreta^^ 
 
 a woman as if she were a man, and 
 he treats a man as if he himself were 
 one. It isn't possible not to like that 
 sort of human being. 
 
 Invitations are beginning to come in 
 floods — invitations for the big, formal 
 things for which people are asked weeks 
 in advance. And we are getting a splen- 
 did percentage of acceptances for our big 
 affairs, thanks to my taking the trouble 
 to find out the freest dates in the sea- 
 son. If all goes well, before another 
 month, as soon as it gets round that we 
 are going to give something big in a 
 short time, lots of pretty good people will 
 be holding off from accepting other 
 things in the hope that they're on our 
 list. 
 
 Certainly, there's a good deal in go- 
 ing about anything in a systematic way 
 — even a social launching. 
 
 94 
 
IV 
 
 JANUARY 1 2. We are all sleeping 
 so badly. Even the Senator, whom 
 nothing has ever before kept from 
 his "proper rest," is complaining of 
 vi^akefulness. Suppers every night either 
 here or elsew^here, the house never quiet 
 until tw^o or three in the morning, all 
 of us up at eight — Cyrus often at seven 
 because he rides a good deal, and the 
 early morning is the only time w^hen 
 any one in Washington in the season 
 can find time to ride. "It's worse than 
 the Wilderness campaign," said Mr. 
 
 95 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 Burke, who was a lieutenant in £he war. 
 "For now and then, between battles and 
 skirmishes, we did get plenty of sleep. 
 This is a continuous battle day and night, 
 week in and week out, with no let-up 
 for Sundays." And Mrs. Burke — poor 
 "ma!" How hollow-eyed and sagged- 
 cheeked she is getting with the real sea- 
 son less than two weeks old! She says: 
 "I wouldn't treat a dog as I treat my- 
 self. I no sooner get to sleep than they 
 wake me. I think the servants just de- 
 light to wake me, and I don't blame 
 them, for they're worse off than we are, 
 though I do try to be as easy on them 
 as possible." She doesn't know how 
 many long naps they take while she's 
 dragging herself from place to place. 
 
 On our way to the White House to 
 a musicale she fell asleep. As we rolled 
 up to the entrance I had to wake her. 
 96 
 
The Social Secreta^kS 
 
 She came to with a sort of groan and 
 gave a ludicrously pitiful glance at the 
 attendant who was impatiently waiting. 
 "Oh, Lord!" she muttered. "I was 
 dreaming I was in bed, and it ain't so. 
 Instead, I've got to enjoy myself." And 
 then she gave a dreary laugh. 
 
 "Ma" Burke dozed through the mu- 
 sicale with a pleasant smile on her large 
 face and her head keeping time to the 
 music. When we spoke to the Presi- 
 dent and he said he hoped she'd "en- 
 joyed herself," she drawled: "I did that, 
 Mr. President! I only wish it had been 
 longer — I'm 'way behind on sleep." He 
 laughed uproariously. It's the fashion 
 to laugh at everything "ma" says now, 
 because the German ambassador tells 
 every one what a wit she is. And who'd 
 fail to laugh at wit admired by an am- 
 bassador? 
 
 97 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 Writing about sleep has driven ofF 
 my fit of wakefulness. I'll only add 
 that Lu Frayne's in town, working day 
 and night to get her husband transferred 
 from San Francisco to the War Depart- 
 ment here, I think she'll win out, as 
 she's got two Senators who've been 
 frightening the President by acting 
 queer ly lately. It's too funny! When 
 the new Administration came every one 
 was scared because the rumor got round 
 that he was going to give us a repeti- 
 tion of the Cleveland nightmare. But 
 there was nothing in it; the only "pulls" 
 that have failed to work are those that 
 were strong with the last Administra- 
 tion, and there's a whole crop of new 
 pulls. Well, at least, the right sort of 
 people, those who have family and posi- 
 tion, are getting their rights to prefer- 
 ence as they never did before. We've 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 not had many Presidents who knew the 
 right sort of people even when they've 
 been willing to please them, if they 
 could pick them out. 
 
 What a changed Washington it is: 
 so many formalities; so many rich peo- 
 ple; so many rich men, and men of 
 family and position in office; so many 
 big, fine houses and English and French 
 servants. "Such a stylishness!" 
 
 January 14. Our first big dance last 
 night — I mean, formal dance to show our 
 strength. Everybody was here, and the 
 dinner beforehand and the supper after- 
 ward and all the mechanical arrange- 
 ments, so to speak, were perfect. The 
 ball-room was a sight — even "ma" Burke, 
 tired to death, perked up. Almost all 
 the diplomats, except those nobody 
 asks, were here. And I don't think 
 more than thirty people we hadn't in- 
 
 99 
 
The Social Secret a©$ 
 
 vited ventured to come. We were all 
 so excited that, after the last people had 
 gone, we sat round for nearly an hour. 
 "Ma" Burke took me in her arms and 
 kissed me. "It was your ball," said she. 
 "But then, everything we get credit for 
 is all yours; ain't it, par" 
 
 "Miss Talltowers has certainly done 
 wonderfully," said "pa" in his cautious, 
 judicial way. Then he seemed ashamed 
 of himself, as if he had been ungenerous, 
 and shook hands with me and added: 
 "Thank you, thank you. Miss Augusta — 
 if you'll permit me the liberty of call- 
 ing you so." 
 
 "I never expected to see as pretty a 
 girl as you bothering to have brains," 
 Mrs. Burke went on to say. And for| 
 the first time in weeks and weeks it oc- 
 curred to me that I did have a personal 
 existence apart from my work — the 
 
 100 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 books and bookkeeping, the servants and 
 the housekeeper, who is only one more 
 to fuss with, the tradespeople, and mu- 
 sicians, and singers, and florists, and — 
 it makes my head whirl to try to recall 
 the awful list. 
 
 "She won't be pretty very long," said 
 Cyrus — he's taking lessons of his mother 
 and is dropping his fancy-work speech 
 and his "made-in-Germany" manners — 
 "if she don't stop working day and 
 night." 
 
 "Oh, I'm amusing myself," replied 
 I; but I was reminded how weary I 
 felt, and went away to bed. I neglected 
 to close my sitting-room door, and as I 
 was getting ready for bed in my dress- 
 ing-room I couldn't help overhearing 
 a scrap of talk between Cyrus and Mr. 
 Gunton as thev went along the hall on 
 the way to their apartments. 
 
 lOI 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 "The Tevises were disgusting — they 
 showed their envy so plainly," Cyrus 
 said. The Tevises are trying hard to do 
 what we're doing in a social way, and 
 though they must have even more 
 money than the Burkes, they're failing 
 at it. 
 
 "They'll never get anywhere," Mr. 
 Gunton replied. "You can't collect 
 much of a crowd of nice people just to 
 watch you spend money. You've got 
 to give them a real show. There's where 
 Miss Talltowers comes in." 
 
 "She has wonderful taste and origi- 
 nality," said Cyrus. Cyrus! 
 
 Mr. Gunton sat out most of the even- 
 ing with Nadeshda. I suppose she was 
 trying to make Cyrus jealous and also 
 to create trouble between him and his 
 uncle. I've not seen a franker flirtation 
 even in Washington. Whenever I 
 
 I02 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 chanced to look at them, Mr. Gunton 
 was talking earnestly, and she seemed 
 to be hanging to his words like a thirsty 
 bird to a water-pan. And her queer, 
 subtle face was — well, it was beautiful, 
 and gave me that sence of the wild and 
 fierce and uncanny which makes her 
 both fascinating and terrible. I think 
 Mr. Gunton was infatuated — indeed, I 
 know it. For when I spoke of her to 
 him this morning his eyes seemed to 
 blaze. He drew a long breath. "A 
 wonder-woman!" he said. "I never 
 saw anything like her — in the flesh." 
 Then he looked a little sheepish, and 
 added: "I mean it, but I laugh at my- 
 self, too. There are fools that don't 
 know they're fools; then, there are fools 
 that do know it and laugh at them- 
 selves as they plan fresh follies — it takes 
 a pretty ''clever man. Miss Talltowers, 
 103 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 to make a grand, supreme, rip-roaring 
 ass of himself, doesn't it? At least, I 
 hope so." And with that somewhat 
 mysterious observation he left me ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 When I saw him and Nadeshda to- 
 gether so much at the ball I looked 
 out for Cyrus. He seemed bored, and 
 devoted himself to wallflowers, but on 
 the whole was surprisingly unconcerned, 
 apparently. I had him in sight almost 
 the whole evening. Jim Lafollette, 
 who stuck to my train like a Japanese 
 poodle — I told him so, but he didn't 
 take the hint — said that "the gawk," 
 meaning Cyrus, was hanging round me. 
 "He's moon-struck," said Jim. "So 
 your little put-up job with Jessie seems 
 to be doing nicely, thank you." I won- 
 der why a man assumes that the fact 
 that he loves a woman gives him the 
 104 
 
The Social Secretac^ 
 
 right to insult her and makes it his duty 
 to do it. And I wonder why we women 
 assent to that sort of impudence. There's 
 another conventionality that ought to be 
 stamped out. 
 
 I find I was hasty in my judgment of 
 Cyrus. He's a lot more of a man than 
 he led me to suppose at first. I think 
 he might be licked into shape. He ought 
 to hunt up some widow or married 
 woman older than himself and go to 
 school for a few seasons. But perhaps 
 Nadeshda will do as well. 
 
 January 17. There were thirty -two 
 at Senator Burke's "little informal break- 
 fast" yesterday morning, including four 
 of the leading Senators, two members 
 of the Cabinet, an ambassador and three 
 ministers, several generals, half a dozen 
 distinguished strangers, four or five big 
 financial men from New York who are 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 here on "private business" with Con- 
 gress, and not a man who doesn't count 
 for something except that wretched 
 little Framstern, who never misses any- 
 thing free. And our regular weekly in- 
 formal dance was an equal success in its 
 way. Senator Ritchie told me it was 
 amazing how Burke had forged to the 
 front in influence and in popularity. 
 *'And now that the newspapers have be- 
 gun to take him up he'll soon be stand- 
 ing out before the whole country." So 
 my little suggestion about the wives and 
 families of correspondents of the big pa- 
 pers, which the Burkes adopted, is bear- 
 ing fruit. And Mrs. Burke is so genuinely 
 friendly and hospitable that really I've 
 only to suggest her being nice to some- 
 body to set her to work. If she were 
 the least bit of a fraud I'd not dare — 
 she'd only get into trouble. 
 1 06 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 January i8. I was breakfasting alone 
 in my sitting-room this morning — I 
 always do an hour or so of work before 
 I touch anything to eat — when Mr. Gun- 
 ton sent, asking if he might join me. I 
 was glad to have him. His direct way 
 is attractive, and he never talks without 
 saying at least a few things I haven't 
 heard time and again. He was in riding 
 clothes, and as soon as I looked at him 
 I saw he had something on his mind. 
 
 "Good ride?" I asked. 
 
 He made an impatient gesture — when- 
 ever he has anything to say and doesn't 
 know how to begin, the way to start 
 him off is to make some common- 
 place remark, tt acts like a blow that 
 knocks in the head of a full barrel. "I 
 was out with the Baroness Daragane," 
 he said, "with Nadeshda." 
 
 "And Cyrus?" said I. 
 107 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 He looked at me in astonishment, 
 then laughed queer ly. "Oh, bother!" 
 he exclaimed. "Cyrus doesn't disturb 
 himself about her, or she about him — 
 and you know it. Miss Talltowers, I 
 love her — and she loves me." 
 
 His tone was convincing. But, after 
 ihe first shock, I couldn't believe any- 
 thing so preposterous. And I felt sorry 
 for him — an honest, straight man, in- 
 experienced with women, a fine mix- 
 ture of gentleness and roughness, at once 
 too much and too little of a gentleman 
 for Nadeshda. If I had dared I should 
 have tried to undeceive him. But 
 I'm not so stupid as ever to try to make 
 a person in love see the truth about the 
 person he or she's in love with. So I 
 simply said: "She is a most fascinating 
 woman." 
 
 "You think I'm a fool," he went on, 
 io8 
 
The Social Secret ai^ 
 
 as if I hadn't spoken, "and I am a— 
 a blankety-blank fool. Did you see her 
 night before last in that dress of silver 
 spangles like the wonderful skin of some 
 amazing serpent? Did you see her eyes 
 — her hair — the way her arms looked — 
 as if they could wind themselves round 
 a man's neck and choke him to death 
 while her eyes were fooling him into 
 thinking that such a death was greater 
 happiness than to live?" He rolled this 
 all out, then burst into a queer, crazy 
 laugh. "You see, I'm a lunatic!" he 
 said. 
 
 "Yes, I see it," I replied cheerfully. 
 "But why do you rave to me?" 
 
 "Because I — we — have got to tell 
 somebody, and you're the only person 
 in Washington that I know that's both 
 sensible and experienced, wise enough 
 to understand, beautiful enough to sym- 
 109 
 
The Social SecretaQJ 
 
 pathize, and young enough to encour- 
 age." 
 
 That was rather good for a man who 
 had had less than a month's real experi- 
 ence with women, wasn't it? I recognized 
 Nadeshda's handiwork, and admired. 
 
 "Miss Tall towers," he went on, "I 
 am going to make a fool of myself, and 
 she's going to help me." 
 
 "In what particular sort of folly are 
 you about to embark?" said I. 
 
 "We're going to marry," he replied. 
 "We've got to marry. I'm afraid of her 
 and she's afraid of me, and we'll either 
 have Heaven or the other place when 
 we do marry — perhaps big doses of 
 each alternately. But we've got to do it." 
 
 "You know it's impossible," said I. 
 
 "Under the laws of her country she 
 
 mayn't marry without the consent of 
 
 her parents. And they'd never consent." 
 
 no 
 
The Social Secretai35 
 
 "Certainly they won't," said he, "un- 
 less you can suggest some way of getting 
 the ambassador and his wife round. We 
 want to give her people a chance." This 
 with perfect coolness. I began to believe 
 that there must be something in it. 
 
 "Does Nadeshda know you aren't 
 rich?" I asked. 
 
 "She knows I have practically noth- 
 ing. In fact I told her I had less than 
 I have." 
 
 "And you're sure she wishes to marry 
 you?" 
 
 "Ask her." 
 
 He was quiet a while, then raved 
 about her for ten minutes, begged me 
 to do my best thinking, and left me. 
 I felt dazed. I simply couldn't believe 
 it. And the longer I thought, the more 
 certain I was that she was making some 
 sort of grand play in coquetry, which 
 
 III 
 
The Social SecretaCkJ 
 
 seemed ridiculous enough when I con- 
 sidered what small game Mr. Gunton is 
 from the standpoint of a woman like 
 Nadeshda. 
 
 In the afternoon I was in a flower 
 store in Pennsylvania Avenue, and Na- 
 deshda joined me. Her surface was, if 
 anything, cooler and subtler and more 
 cynical than usual. "Send away your 
 cab," said she, "and let me take you in 
 my auto — wherever you wish." 
 
 As I was full of curiosity, I accepted 
 instantly. When we were under way 
 she gave me a strange smile — a slow 
 parting of the lips, a slow half-closing 
 and elongation of those Eastern eyes 
 which she inherits from a Russian grand- 
 mother, I believe. 
 
 "Well, Gus," she said, "has that wild 
 man told you?" 
 
 "Yes, and you ought to be ashamed 
 
 112 
 
The Social Secretac^ 
 
 of yourself," said I, a little indignantly. 
 "It ain't fair to coax an innocent into 
 your sort of game and fleece him of 
 his little all." 
 
 She laughed — beautiful white teeth, 
 cruel like her red lips. "It's all true — 
 all he told you," she replied. "All true, 
 on my honor." 
 
 Every season Washington's strange 
 mixture of classes and conditions and 
 nations furnishes at least one sensation 
 of some kind or other. But, used as I 
 am to surprises until they have ceased 
 to surprise, this took me quite aback. 
 "Do you love him, Nadeshda — really?" 
 
 She quite closed her eyes and said in 
 a strange, slow undertone: "He's my 
 master. The blood in my veins flowed 
 straight from the savage wilderness. And 
 he comes from there, and I don't dare 
 disobey him. I'd do anything he said. 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 And when we're married I'll never 
 glance at another man — if he saw me 
 he'd kill me. Ah, you don't understand 
 — you're too — too civilized. Now, I 
 think I should love him better if he'd 
 beat me." 
 
 I laughed — it was too ridiculous, 
 especially as she was plainly in earnest. 
 She laughed, too, and added: "I think 
 some day I'll try to make him do it. 
 He's afraid of me, too. And he may 
 well be, for I — well, he belongs to me, 
 you see, and I will have what's mine!" 
 
 Yes, she would — I believe her abso- 
 lutely. And I must say I like her at 
 last, for all her extremely uncanny way 
 of loving and of liking to be loved. I sup- 
 pose she's only a primeval woman — ■ 
 I believe the primeval woman fancied 
 the lover who lay in wait and brought 
 her down with a club. I begin to un- 
 
 114 
 
The Social SecretaoJ 
 
 derstand Robert Gunton, too — that is, 
 the side of his nature she's roused. 
 
 "Do you beHeve us?" she asked. 
 
 "Yes, I do," said I, "and I apolo- 
 gize to you. I've been thinking of you 
 all along as — fascinating, of course, but 
 — mercenary." 
 
 "Ah, but so I am!" she exclaimed. 
 " It breaks my heart to marry this poor 
 man — and of such a vulgar family — 
 even among you funny Americans. But" 
 — she threw up her arms and her shoul- 
 ders and let them drop in a gesture of 
 tragicomic helplessness — "I must have 
 him; I must be his slave." 
 
 I can't imagine how it's going to 
 end, as her people will never let her 
 marry him. Possibly, if "ma" Burke 
 were to persuade the Senator to settle a 
 large sum on her — but that's wild, even 
 if Gunton would consent. I can imag- 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 ine what a roar he'd give if such a thing 
 were proposed. He'll insist on having 
 her on his own terms. As if his insist- 
 ing would do any good! 
 
 The last thing she said to me was: 
 "Do you know when we became en- 
 gaged? Listen! It was the first time 
 we met — after three hours. After one 
 hour he made me insult the men who 
 came up to claim dances. After two 
 hours he made me say, *I love you.' 
 After three hours — it was on the way 
 down to my carriage — he asked me to 
 come into the little reception-room by 
 the entrance. And he closed the door 
 and caught me in his arms and kissed 
 me. 'That makes you my wife,' he 
 said in a dreadful voice — oh, it was — 
 magnifique! — and he said, • Do you under- 
 stand?' And" — she smiled ravishingly 
 and nodded her head — "I understood." 
 Ii6 
 
The Social SecretaGk5 
 
 I shan't sleep a wink to-night. 
 
 January 20. I wish they hadn't told 
 me. If ever a man loves me and wants 
 to win me he must be — well, perhaps 
 not exactly that, but certainly not tame. 
 I'm not : bit like Nadeshda, but I do 
 hate the tame sort. I know what's the 
 matter with me now. Yes, I wish they 
 hadn't tc Id me. 
 
 Janua y 21. Robert and Nadeshda 
 have told "ma" Burke. She is — de- 
 lighted! "I never heard of the like," she 
 said to me all in a quiver. "I wish I'd 
 known there were such things. I reckon 
 I'd 'a' made my Tom cut a few capers 
 before he got me." And then she laughed 
 untij she cried. It certainly was droll 
 to picture "pa" capering in the Robert- 
 Nadeshda fashion. 
 
 She went to the embassy and told 
 Nadeshda's sister, Madame I'Ambassa- 
 
 "7 
 
The Social Secretai35 
 
 drice. "She let on as if she was just 
 tickled to death," she reported to me a 
 few minutes after she returned. "And 
 when I told her that we — Tom and I 
 — would do handsomely by Nadeshda 
 as soon as they were married she had 
 tears in her eyes. But I don't trust her 
 — nor any other foreignero" 
 
 "Not even Nadeshda?" 
 
 " Ma ' ' nodded knowingly. " I reckon 
 Bob'll keep her on the chalk," she re- 
 plied. "He's started right, and in mar- 
 riage, as in everything else, it's all in 
 the start." 
 
 January 22. Nadeshda asked Mrs. 
 Burke to give a big costume ball, but 
 I sat on it hard. "I don't think, you 
 want to do that, Mrs. Burke," said I, 
 when she proposed it to me. "If this 
 were New York it wouldn't matter so 
 much, though I don't think really nice 
 118 
 
The Social Secretaiss 
 
 people with means do that sort of thing 
 there. Here I'm afraid it'd make you 
 very unpopular." 
 
 "Do you think so?" said she. "Now, 
 I'd 'a' said it was just the sort of fool- 
 ishness these people'd like." 
 
 "Those who have money would," I 
 replied. "But how about those who 
 haven't? Don't you think that people 
 of large means ought to make it a rule 
 never to cause any expense whatever to 
 those of their friends and acquaintances 
 who haven't means?" 
 
 "Don't say another word!" she ex- 
 claimed, seeing my point instantly. 
 "Why, it'd be the worst thing in the 
 world. Out home I've always been care- 
 ful about those kind of things, but on 
 here I don't know the people and am 
 liable to forget how they're circum- 
 stanced. They all seem so prosperous 
 119 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 on the surface. I reckon there's a lot 
 of miserable pinching and squinching 
 when the blinds are down." 
 
 Cyrus happened to come in just then, 
 and she told him all about it. He looked 
 at me and grew red and evidently tried 
 to say something — probably something 
 that would have shown how poorly he 
 thought of my cheating them all out 
 of the fun. But he restrained himself 
 and said nothing. 
 
 Presently he went out and must have 
 gone straight to his father — probably 
 to remonstrate, though I may wrong 
 him — for, after a few minutes, the 
 Senator came, 
 
 "My son has just been telling me," 
 he said to me, "and I agree with you 
 entirely. It would be ruinous politically. 
 As it is, if it hadn't been for you we'd 
 never have been able to keep both the 
 1 20 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 official and the fashionable sets in a good 
 humor with us." I never saw him so 
 "flustered" before. 
 
 "What are you talking about, pa?" 
 inquired Mrs. Burke. 
 
 "About the costume ball you were 
 thinking of giving." 
 
 Mrs. Burke smiled. "You'd better 
 go back to your cage," said she. "That's 
 settled and done for long ago." 
 
 "Pa" looked more uneasy than his 
 good-natured tone seemed to justify — 
 but, no doubt, he knows when he has 
 put his foot into it. He "faded" from 
 the room. When she heard his study 
 door close "ma" said to me in a com- 
 placent voice: "There's nothing like 
 keeping a man always to his side of the 
 fence. When *pa' began to get rich I 
 saw trouble ahead, for he was showing 
 signs that he was thinking himself right 
 
 121 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 smart better than the common run, and 
 that he was including his wife in the 
 common run. I took Mr. Smartie Burke 
 right in hand. And so, with him it's 
 never been 'I' in this family, but 'we.' 
 And keeping it that way has made Tom 
 lots happier than he would 'a' been 
 lording it over me and having no con- 
 trol on his foolishness anywhere." 
 
 What a dear, sensible woman she is! 
 He's got good brains, but if he had as 
 good brains as she has he'd get what 
 he's after and doesn't stand a show for. 
 
 January 24. The whole town is in 
 a tumult over Robert and Nadeshda. 
 People think she's crazy. When Cyrus 
 said this to me I said: "And I think 
 they are — at least, delirious." 
 
 "A divine delirium, though," he re- 
 plied, much to my astonishment. For 
 he's never shown before that he had so 
 122 
 
The Social SecretaQ^ 
 
 much as a spot of that sort of thing in 
 him. But then, I'm beginning to revise 
 my judgment of him in some ways. He 
 is much nearer what his mother said 
 he was than what I thought him. But 
 he's young and crude. I find that he 
 hkes — and really appreciates — the same 
 composers and poets and novelists that 
 I do. I can forgive much to any one 
 who realizes what a poet Browning was 
 — when he did write poetry, not when 
 he wrote the stuff for the Browning 
 clubs to fuddle with. 
 
 Nadeshda is in the depths — except 
 when Robert is by to hypnotize her. 
 "I was so strong," she said pathetically 
 to me to-day, "or I thought I was. 
 And now I'm all weakness." She went 
 on to tell me how horribly they are 
 talking to her at the embassy— for they 
 are determined she shan't marry "ths* 
 123 
 
The Social Secret a^^ 
 
 nobody with nothing." I always knew 
 her brother-in-law was a snob of the 
 cheapest and narrowest kind — the well- 
 born, well-bred kind. But I had no idea 
 he was a coward. He threatens to have 
 the Emperor make her come home and 
 go into a convent if she doesn't break 
 off the engagement within a week. 
 
 We are tremendously popular. Ev- 
 erybody is cultivating us, hoping to find 
 out the real inside of this incredible en- 
 gagement. And the ambassador has to 
 pretend publicly that he's personally 
 wild with delight and hopes Nadeshda's 
 parents will consent. He knows how 
 unpopular it would make him and his 
 country with America if his opposition 
 and his reason for it were to be known. 
 
 January 30. Nadeshda has disap- 
 peared. They give out at the embassy 
 that she has left for home to consult 
 124 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 with her parents. Robert looks Hke a 
 man who had gone stark mad and was 
 fighting to keep himself from showing it. 
 We were all at the ball at the French 
 embassy, Mr. and Mrs. Burke dining 
 there. I dined at the White House — a 
 literary affair. The conversation was 
 what you might expect when a lot of 
 people get together to show one an- 
 other how brilliant they are. The Presi- 
 dent talked a great deal. He has very 
 positive opinions on literature in all its 
 branches. I was the only person at the 
 table who wasn't familiar with his books. 
 Fortunately, I wasn't cornered. Cyrus 
 came to the ball from Mrs. Dorringer's, 
 where he took in the Duchess d'Emarre. 
 "She has a beautiful face in repose," he 
 said to me as he paused for a moment, 
 "and it's not at all pretty when she talks. 
 So she listened well." 
 
 125 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 I was too tired to dance, as were the 
 others. We went home together, all 
 depressed. "It's too ridiculous, this kind 
 of life," said "ma" Burke, "and the most 
 ridiculous part of it is that, now we're 
 hauled into it and set a-going, we'll 
 never get out and be sensible again. It 
 just shows you can get used to anything 
 in this world — except doing as you 
 please. I don't believe anybody was ever 
 satisfied to do that. Did you ever wear a 
 Mother Hubbard? There's comfort!" 
 
 I can think of nothing but Robert 
 and Nadeshda. Have they some sort of 
 understanding? No — I'm afraid not. 
 
 I forgot to put down that Robert 
 made the Senator go to the Secretary 
 of State about Nadeshda's disappearance. 
 The Secretary was sympathetic, but he 
 refused to interfere in any way. What 
 else could he do? 
 
 126 
 
V 
 
 FEBRUARY I . Last night Robert 
 started for Europe. He is going 
 to see Nadeshda's father ani. 
 mother. I begin to suspect that Na- 
 deshda has really gone abroad and that 
 she has let him know. He is certainly 
 in a very different frame of mind from 
 what he was at first. But he says noth- 
 ing, hints nothing. Rachel, who has a 
 huge sentimental streak in her, has given 
 Robert a letter to her sister Ellen — she's 
 married to one of the biggest nobles in 
 the empire, Prince Gluckstein. Also, 
 127 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 she has written Ellen a long, long letter, 
 telling her all about Robert, and what 
 a great catch he is. And he is a great 
 catch now, for Senator Burke has organ- 
 ized a company to take over his patents 
 and pay him a big sum for them — it'll 
 sound fabulously big to such people as 
 the Daraganes. For even where these 
 foreigners are very rich and have miles 
 on miles of land and large incomes from 
 '\'c, they're not used to the kind of for- 
 tunes we have — the sums in cash, or in 
 property that's easily sold. And the 
 Daraganes have only rank; their estates 
 are quite insignificant. Von Slovatsky 
 says. 
 
 "They might as well consent first as 
 last," said Mrs. Burke to me just after 
 Robert left; "for Bob always gets what 
 he wants. He never lets go. Cyrus is 
 the same way — he spent eleven months 
 128 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 in the mountains once, and like to 'a' 
 starved and froze and died of fever, just 
 because he'd made up his mind not to 
 come back w^ithout a grizzly. That's 
 v^hy the President took to him." 
 
 And then she told me that it w^as 
 Cyrus who thought out the scheme for 
 making Robert financially eligible and 
 put it in such form that Robert con- 
 sented. That convicted me of injustice 
 again, for I had been suspecting him 
 of being secretly pleased at Robert's set- 
 back — he certainly hasn't looked in the 
 least sorry for him. But it may be that 
 Robert has told him more than he's told 
 us. He certainly couldn't have found a 
 closer-mouthed person. As his mother 
 says, "The grave's a blabmouth beside 
 him vi^hen it comes to keeping secrets. 
 And most men are such gossips." 
 
 Mrs. Fortescue came in to tea this 
 129 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 afternoon. Mrs. Burke was out calling, 
 and I received her — or, rather, she 
 caught me, for I detest her. Just as she 
 was going Cyrus popped in, and she 
 nailed him before he could pop out. 
 She thought it was a good chance to 
 put in a few strong strokes for her 
 daughter. "Of course, it's very pretty 
 and romantic about Nadeshda," she said, 
 "and in this case I'm sure no one with 
 a spark of heart could object. Still, the 
 principle is bad. I don't think young 
 girls who are properly brought up are 
 so impulsive and imprudent. I often 
 say to my husband that I think it's per- 
 fectly frightful the way girls — young 
 girls — go about in Washington. They're 
 out before they should be even think- 
 ing of leaving the nursery, and go round 
 practically unchaperoned. It's so de- 
 moralizing." 
 
 130 
 
The Social Secreta^^ 
 
 "But how are they to compete with 
 the young married women if they 
 don't?" said Cyrus, because he was evi- 
 dently expected to say something. 
 
 "I don't think a man — a sensible man 
 — looking for a wife for his home and 
 a mother for his children would want 
 a girl who'd been 'competing' in Wash- 
 ington society," she answered. "I don't 
 at all approve the way American girls 
 are brought up, anyway — it's entirely 
 too free and destructive of the innocence 
 that is a woman's chief charm. And 
 as for turning the young girls loose in 
 Washington!" Mrs. Fortescue threw 
 up her hands. "It's simply madness. 
 Most of the men are foreigners, accus- 
 tomed to meet only married women in 
 society. They don't know how to take a 
 young girl, and they don't understand this 
 American freedom. The wonder to me 
 
The Social Secretai^ 
 
 is that we don't have a regular cataclysm 
 every season. Novr, I never permit 
 Mildred to go anywhere v^ithout me or 
 some other real chaperon. And I know 
 that her mind is like a fresh rose-leaf," 
 
 Cyrus and I exchanged a covert glance 
 of amusement. Mildred Fortescue is a 
 very nice, sweet girl, but — well, she does 
 fool her mother scandalously. 
 
 "I should think a man would posi- 
 tively be afraid to marry the ordinary 
 Washington society girl who knows 
 everything that she shouldn't and noth- 
 ing that she should." 
 
 "Perhaps that's what makes them so 
 irresistible," said Cyrus. 
 
 "Irresistible to flirt with and to Jlaner 
 about with," said Mrs. Fortescue re- 
 proachfully. "But I'm sure you wouldn't 
 marry one of them, Mr. Burke." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know," he answered. 
 132 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 "No doubt it does spoil a good many, 
 being so free and associating with ex- 
 perienced men who've been brought up 
 in a very different way. But" — he hesi- 
 tated and blushed uncomfortably — "it 
 seems to me that those who do come 
 through all right are about the best any- 
 where. If a girl has any really bad qual- 
 ities anywhere in her they come out 
 here. And if a Washington girl does 
 marry a man — for himself— and I rather 
 think they make marriages of the heart 
 more than most girls in the same sort 
 of society in other cities — don't you. 
 Miss Talltowers?" 
 
 "It may be so," I replied. "But prob- 
 ably they're much like girls — and men 
 — everywhere. They make marriages 
 of the heart if they get the chance. And 
 if nobody happens along in the marry- 
 ing mood who is able to appeal to their 
 
 133 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 hearts, they select the most eligible 
 among the agreeable ones they can get. 
 I think many a girl has been branded 
 as mercenary when in reality the rich 
 man she chose was neither more nor 
 less agreeable than the poor man she 
 rejected, and she only had choice among 
 men she didn't especially care about." 
 Mrs. Fortescue looked disgusted. 
 Cyrus showed that he agreed with me. 
 "What I was going to say," he went on, 
 "was, that if a Washington girl does 
 choose a man, after she has known lots 
 of men and has come to prefer him, 
 she's not likely — at least, not so likely 
 — to repent her bargain. And," he said, 
 getting quite warmed up by his subject, 
 "if a man looks forward to his wife's 
 going about in society, as he must if he 
 lives in a certain way, I think he's wise 
 to select some one who has learned 
 
 134 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 something of the world — how to con- 
 duct herself, how to control herself, 
 how to fill the role Fate has assigned 
 her." 
 
 "Oh, of course, a girl should be well- 
 bred," said Mrs. Fortescue, as sourly as 
 her sort of woman can speak to a bach- 
 elor with prospects. 
 
 Cyrus said no more, and soon she was 
 off. He stood at the window watching 
 her carriage drive away. He turned 
 abruptly — I was at the little desk, writ- 
 ing a note. 
 
 "You can't imagine," he said with 
 quick energy, "how I loathe the aver- 
 age girl brought up in conventional, 
 exclusive society in America." 
 
 "Really?" said I, not stopping my 
 writing — though I don't mind confess- 
 ing that I was more interested in his 
 views than I cared to let him see. 
 
 13s 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 "Yes, really," he replied ironically. 
 Then he went on in his former tone: 
 "Poor things, they can't help having 
 silly mothers with the idea of aping the 
 European upper classes, and with hardly 
 a notion of those upper classes beyond 
 — well, such notions as are got in novels 
 written by snobs for snobs. And these 
 unfortunate girls are afraid of a genuine 
 emotion — by Jove, I doubt if they even 
 have the germs of genuine emotion. 
 All that sort of thing has been weeded 
 out of them. Little dry minds, little 
 dry hearts — so 'proper,' so — ^vulgar!" 
 
 "Not in Washington," said I. 
 
 "No, not so many in Washington; 
 though more and more all the time. 
 Miss Tall towers, will you marry me?" 
 
 It was just like that — no warning, 
 not a touch of sentiment toward me. 
 I almost dropped my pen. But I man- 
 136 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 aged to hide myself pretty well. I sim- 
 ply went on with my note, finisjbed it, 
 sealed and addressed it, and rang for a 
 servant. Thep. I went and stood by the 
 fire. The servant came; I gave him 
 the note and went into my office. I 
 had been in there perhaps ten minutes 
 when he came, looking shy and sheep- 
 ish. He stumbled over a low chair and 
 had a ridiculous time saving himself 
 from falling. When he finally had him- 
 self straightened up and shaken together 
 he stood with his hands behind him, 
 and his face red, and his eyes down, 
 and with his mouth fixed in that foolish 
 little way as if he were about to speak 
 with his fancy-work way of handling 
 his words. 
 
 "Do you wish something?" I asked. 
 
 "Only — only my answer," said he 
 humbly. 
 
 137 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 Would you believe it, I actually hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 "I want a woman that doesn't like 
 me for my money, and that at the same 
 time would know how to act and would 
 be — be sensible. I've had you in mind 
 ever since you explained your system 
 for — for" — he smiled faintly — "exploit- 
 ing mother and father. And mother 
 has been talking in the same way of 
 late. She says we can't afford to let you 
 get out of the family. That's all, I guess 
 — all you'd have patience to hear." 
 
 "Then you were making me a seri- 
 ous business proposition?" said I. 
 
 "Well, you might call it that," he ad- 
 mitted, as if he weren't altogether satis- 
 fied with my way of summing it up. 
 
 "I'm much obliged, but it doesn't 
 attract me," I said. 
 
 He gave a kind of hopeless gesture. 
 
 138 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 "I've put it all wrong," said he. "I 
 always say things wrong. But — I — I 
 believe I do things better." And he gave 
 me a look that I liked. It was such a 
 quaint mingling of such a nice man 
 with such a nice boy. 
 
 "I understand perfectly," said I, and 
 I can't tell how much I hated to hurt 
 him — he did so remind me of dear old 
 "ma" Burke. "But — please don't dis- 
 cuss it. I couldn't consider the matter 
 ■ — possibly." 
 
 "You won't leave!" he exclaimed. 
 "I assure you I'll not annoy you. You 
 must admit. Miss Talltowers, that I 
 haven't tried to thrust myself on you in the 
 past. And — really, mother and father 
 couldn't get on at all without you." 
 
 "Certainly, I shan't leave — why 
 should I?" said I. "I'm very well satis- 
 fied with my position." 
 
 139 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 "Thank you," he said with an awk- 
 ward bow, and he left me alone. 
 
 Of course, I couldn't possibly marry 
 him. But I suppose a woman's vanity 
 compels her to take a more favorable 
 view of any man after she's found out 
 that he wishes to marry her. Anyhow, 
 I find I don't dislike him at all as I 
 thought I did. I couldn't help being 
 amused at myself the next day. I was 
 driving with Jessie, and she was giving 
 me her usual sermon on the advantages 
 of the Burke alliance — if I could by 
 chance scheme it through. "You're 
 very pretty, Gus," she said. "In fact 
 you're beautiful at times. Men do like 
 height when it goes with your sort of 
 a — a willowy figure. Your eyes alone 
 — if you would only use them — would 
 catch him. And the Burkes would be 
 — well, they might object a little at first 
 140 
 
The Social Secreta^^ 
 
 because you've given them a position 
 that has no doubt swollen their heads 
 — but they'd yield gracefully. And 
 although you are very attractive and are 
 always having men in love with you, 
 you've simply got to make up your 
 mind soon. Look how many such nice, 
 good-looking girls have been crowded 
 aside by the young ones. Men are crazy 
 about freshness, no matter what they 
 pretend. Yes, you must decide, dear. 
 And — I couldn't endure poor Carteret 
 when I married him." 
 
 Carteret is a miserable specimen, and 
 Jessie's ways keep him in a dazed state 
 — like an old hen sitting on a limb and 
 turning her head round and round to 
 keep watch on a fox that's racing in a 
 circle underneath. Fox doesn't seem 
 exactly to fit Jessie, but sometimes I 
 suspect — however — 
 141 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 "But," Jessie was going on, "I knew 
 mama was my best friend. And when 
 she said, 'Six months after marriage 
 you'll be quite used to him and won't 
 in the least mind, and you'll be so glad 
 you married somebody who was quiet 
 and good,' I married him. And I love 
 him dearly, Gus, and we make each 
 other so happy!" 
 
 I laughed — Jessie doesn't mind; she 
 don't understand what laughter means 
 in most people. I was thinking of what 
 Rachel told me the other day. She said 
 to Carteret, "It must be great fun 
 wondering what Jessie will do next." 
 And he looked at her in his dumb way 
 and said: "What she'll do next? Lord, 
 I ain't caught up with that. I'm just 
 about six weeks behind on her record 
 all the time." 
 
 But to go back to Jessie's talk to me, 
 142 
 
The Social Secret ais^ 
 
 she went on: "And Mr. Burke's not 
 so dreadfully unattractive, dear. Of 
 course, he's far from handsome, and — 
 well, he's the son of Mr. and Mrs. Burke 
 — but though they're quite common and 
 all that—" 
 
 I found myself furiously angry. "I 
 don't think he's at all bad-looking," I 
 said, pretending to be judicial. "He's 
 big and strong and sensible; and what 
 more does a woman usually ask for? 
 And I don't at all agree with you about 
 his father and mother, either — especially 
 his mother. No, Jessie, dear, my ob- 
 jections aren't yours at all. I'm sure you 
 wouldn't understand them, so let's not 
 talk about it." 
 
 February 3. Yesterday Mrs. Tevis 
 sent for me. That was a good deal of 
 an impertinence, but I'm getting very 
 sensible about impertinences. She lives 
 
 143 
 
The Social Secretaes 
 
 in grand style in a big, new house in 
 K Street — it, like everything about her, 
 is "regardless of expense." The Tevises 
 have been making the most desperate 
 efforts to "break in" last season and 
 this, and as Washington is, up to a cer- 
 tain point, very easy for strangers w^ith 
 money, they've gone pretty far. I sup- 
 pose Washington's like every other cap- 
 ital — the people are so used to all sorts 
 of queer strangers and everything is so 
 restless and changeful that no one minds 
 adding to his list of acquaintances any 
 person who offers entertainment and 
 isn't too appalling. And the Tevises 
 have been spending money like water. 
 It's queer how people can go every- 
 where that anybody goes and can seem 
 to be "right in it," yet not be in it at 
 all. That's the way it is with the Tev- 
 ises. They are at every big affair in town 
 144 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 — White House, embassies, private 
 houses. But they're never invited to the 
 smaller, more or less informal things. 
 And when they do appear at a ball or 
 anywhere they're treated with formal 
 politeness. They know there's some- 
 thing wrong, but they can't for the life 
 of them see what it is. And that's not 
 strange, for who can see the line that's 
 instinctively drawn between social sheep 
 and social goats in the flock that's 
 apparently all mixed up? Everybody 
 knows the sheep on sight; everybody 
 knows the goats. And all act accord- 
 ingly without anything being said. 
 
 Well, Mr. and Mrs. Tevis are goats. 
 Why? Anybody could see it after talk- 
 ing to either of them for five minutes; 
 yet who could say why? It isn't because 
 they're snobs — lots of sheep are nauseat- 
 ing snobs. It isn't because they're very 
 
 145 
 
The Social Secret a]35 
 
 badly self-made — I defy anybody to pro- 
 duce a goat that can touch Willie 
 Catesby or Rennie Tucker, yet each of 
 them has ancestors by the score. It isn't 
 because they're new — the Burkes are 
 new, yet Mrs. Burke has at least a dozen 
 intimate acquaintances of the right sort. 
 It isn't because they're ostentatious and 
 boastful about wealth and prices — there 
 are scores of sheep who make the same 
 sort of absurd exhibition of vulgarity. 
 I can't place it. They're just goats, and 
 they know it, and they feel it; and when 
 you go to their house they suggest a 
 restaurant keeper welcoming his cus- 
 tomers; and when they come to your 
 house they suggest Cook's tourists roam- 
 ing in the private apartments of a palace, 
 smiling apologetically at every one and 
 wondering whether they're not about 
 to be told to "step lively." 
 146 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 Mrs. Tevis received me very grandly 
 and graciously, though dreadfully nerv- 
 ous v^ithal, lest I should be seeing that 
 she v^^as "throwing a bluff" and should 
 put her in her place. 
 
 "I've requested you to come, my dear 
 Miss Talltowers," she began, after she 
 had bunglingly served tea from the new- 
 est and costliest and most elaborate tea-set 
 I ever saw, "because I had a little mat- 
 ter of business to talk over with you 
 and felt that we could talk more freely 
 here." 
 
 "I must be back at half-past five," 
 said I, by way of urging her on to the 
 point. 
 
 "That will be quite time enough," 
 said she. "We can have our little con- 
 versation quite nicely, and you will be 
 in ample time for your duties." 
 
 I wonder what sort of dialect she 
 
 147 
 
The Social Secreta535 
 
 thinks in. It certainly can't be more 
 irritating than the one she translates her 
 thoughts into before speaking them. 
 The dialect she inflicts on people sounds 
 as if it were from a Complete Conver- 
 sationalist, got up by an old maid who 
 had been teaching school for forty 
 years. 
 
 "I have decided to take a secretary 
 for next season," she went on. "Not 
 that I need any such direction as the 
 Burkes. Fortunately, Mr. Tevis and I 
 have had a large social experience on 
 both sides of the Atlantic and have al- 
 ways moved with the best people. But 
 just a secretary — to attend to my oner- 
 ous correspondence and arrangements 
 for entertaining. The duties would be 
 light, but we should be willing to pay 
 a larger salary than the position would 
 really justify — that is, we should be will- 
 148 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 ing to pay it, you know, to a lady such 
 as you are." 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 "We should treat you with all deli- 
 cacy and appreciation of the fact that 
 your misfortunes have compelled you to 
 take a — a — position — which — which — " 
 
 "You are very kind, Mrs. Tevis," 
 said I. 
 
 "And we realized that in all proba- 
 bility the Burkes would have no further 
 use for your services at the end of this 
 season, as you have been most success- 
 ful with them." 
 
 I winced. For the first time the 
 "practical" view of what I've been 
 doing for the Burkes stared me in the 
 face — that is, the view which such people 
 as the Tevises, perhaps many of my 
 friends, took of it. So I was being re- 
 garded, spoken of, discussed, as a person 
 149 
 
The Social Secret a?35 
 
 who had been bought by the Burkes to 
 get them in with certain people. And 
 it was assumed that, having got what 
 they wanted, they would dismiss me and 
 so cut off a superfluous expense! I was 
 somewhat astonished at myself for not 
 having seen my position in this light 
 before. 
 
 And I suddenly realized why I hadn't 
 — because the Burkes were really nice peo- 
 ple, because I hadn't been their employee 
 but their friend. What if I had started 
 my career as a dependent of Mrs. Tevis' ! 
 I shivered. And when the Burkes should 
 need me no longer — why, the probabili- 
 ties were that I should have to seek em- 
 ployment from just such dreadful people 
 as these — upstarts eager to jam them- 
 selves in, vulgarians whom icy manners 
 and forbidding looks only influence to 
 fiercer efforts to associate with those 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 who don't wish to associate with them. 
 
 Mrs. Tevis interrupted my dismal 
 thoughts with a cough, intended to be 
 polite. "What — what — compensation 
 would you expect, may I ask?" 
 
 "What do such positions pay?" I said, 
 and my voice sounded harsh to me. I 
 wished to know what value was usually 
 put upon such services. 
 
 "Would — say — twenty-five dollars a 
 week be — meet with your views?" she 
 asked, and her tone was that of a per- 
 son performing an act of astounding 
 generosity. 
 
 "Oh, dear me, no," said I, with the 
 kind of sweetness that coats a pill of 
 gall. "I couldn't think of trying to get 
 you in for any such sum as that." 
 
 I saw that the gall had bit through 
 the sugar-coat. 
 
 "Would you object to giving me some 
 
The Social Secreta^s^ 
 
 idea of what the Burkes pay?" she asked, 
 with the taste puckering her mouth. 
 
 "I should," I repUed, rising. "Any- 
 how, I don't care to undertake the job. 
 Thank you so much for your generosity 
 and kindness, Mrs. Tevis." I nodded 
 — I'm afraid it was a nod intended to 
 "put her in her place." "Good-by," 
 And I smiled and got myself out of the 
 room before she recovered. 
 
 I wish I hadn't seen her. I hate the 
 truth — it's always unpleasant. 
 
 February 5. Mrs. Burke had thirty- 
 one invitations to-day, eleven of them 
 for her and Mr. Burke. Seven were in- 
 vitations to little affairs which Mrs. 
 Tevis would give — well, perhaps five 
 dollars apiece — to get to. How ridic- 
 ulous for her to economize in the one 
 way in which liberality is most neces- 
 sary. Here they are spending probably 
 
The Social Secreta^^ 
 
 a hundred thousand dollars a season in 
 hopeless attempts to do that which they 
 would hesitate to pay me six hundred 
 dollars for doing. And this when they 
 think I could accomplish it. But could 
 I? I guess not. To win out as I have 
 with the Burkes you've got to have the 
 right sort of material to work on, and 
 it must be workable. Vulgar people 
 would be ashamed to put themselves in 
 any one's hands as completely as Mrs. 
 Burke put herself in my hands. 
 
 Oh, I'm sick — sick, sick of it! I'm 
 ashamed to look "ma" Burke in the 
 face, because I think such mean things 
 about them all when I'm in bed and blue. 
 
 February 6. I decline all the invita- 
 tions that come for me personally. I sit 
 in my "office" and pretend to be fussing 
 with my books — they give me the hor- 
 rors ! And I was so proud of them and 
 
 153 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 of my plans to make my little enter- 
 prise a success. 
 
 February 7, Mrs. Burke came in 
 this afternoon and came round my desk 
 and kissed me. "What is it, dear? 
 What's the matter?" she said. "Won't 
 you tell me? Why, I feel as if you 
 were my daughter. I did have a daugh- 
 ter. She came first. Tom was so dis- 
 appointed. But I was glad. A son 
 belongs to both his parents, and, when 
 he's grown up, to his wife. But a 
 daughter — she would 'a' belonged to me 
 always. And she had to up and die just 
 when she was about to make up her 
 mind to talk." 
 
 I put my face down in my arms on 
 the desk. 
 
 "Tired, dear?" said "ma" — she's a 
 born "ma." "Ofcourse, that's it. You're 
 clean pegged out, working and worry- 
 
 154 
 
The Social Secreta^^J 
 
 ing. You must put it all away and rest." 
 And she sat down by me. 
 
 All of a sudden — I couldn't help it 
 — I put my head on her great, big bosom 
 and burst out crying. "Oh, I'm so badV 
 I said. "And you're so good!" 
 
 She patted me and kissed me on top 
 of my head. "What pretty, soft hair 
 you have, dear," she said, "and what a 
 lot of it! My! My! I don't see how 
 anybody that looks like you do could ever 
 be unhappy a minute. You don't know 
 what it means to be born homely and 
 fat and to have to work hard just to 
 make people not object to having you 
 about." And she went on talking in 
 that way until I was presently laugh- 
 ing, still against that great, big bosom 
 with the great, big heart beating under 
 it. When I felt that it would be a down- 
 right imposition to stay there any longer 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 I straightened up. I felt quite cheerful. 
 
 "Was there something worrying 
 you?" she asked. 
 
 I blushed and hung my head. "Yes, 
 but I can't tell you," said I. And I 
 couldn't — could I ? Besides, there some- 
 how doesn't seem to be much of any- 
 thing in all my brooding. What a nasty 
 beast that Mrs. Tevis is! 
 
 February 12. Mrs. Burke and I went 
 to a reception at the Secretary of State's 
 this afternoon. We saw Nadeshda's sis- 
 ter in the distance — that's where we've 
 always seen her and the ambassador and 
 the whole embassy staff ever since the 
 "bust-up," except funny little De Pleyev. 
 He, being of a mediatized family, does 
 not need to disturb himself about am- 
 bassadorial frowns or smiles. It's curi- 
 ous what a strong resemblance there is 
 between a foreigner of royal blood and 
 156 
 
The Social Secretajs^ 
 
 a straightaway American gentleman. 
 But, as I was about to write, this after- 
 noon the distance between us and Ma- 
 dame r Ambassadrice slowly lessened, and 
 when she was quite close to us she gave 
 us a dazzling smile apiece and said to 
 Mrs. Burke: "My dear Madame Burke, 
 you are looking most charming. You 
 must come to us to tea. To-morrow? 
 Do say yes — we've missed you so. My 
 poor back — it almost shuts me out of 
 the world." And she passed on — prob- 
 ably didn't wish to risk the chance that 
 "ma's" puzzled look might give place 
 to an expression of some kind of anger 
 and that she might make one of those 
 frank speeches she's famous for. 
 
 "Well, did you ever!" exclaimed 
 "ma" when the Countess was out of 
 earshot. 
 
 I said warningly: "Everybody's seen 
 
 ^S7 
 
The Social Secreta^^ 
 
 it and is watching you," And it was 
 true. The whole crowd in those per- 
 fume-steeped rooms was gaping, and the 
 news had spread so quickly that a throng 
 was pushing in from the tea-room, some 
 of them still chewing. 
 
 Afterward we discussed it, and could 
 come to but one conclusion — that the 
 Robert-Nadeshda crisis had passed. But 
 — do the Daraganes think that Nadeshda 
 is safe from Robert, or have they decided 
 to take him in? Certainly, something 
 decisive has happened. And if Robert 
 had anything to do with it it must have 
 been stirring enough to make the Dara- 
 ganes use the cable — how else could 
 Nadeshda's sister have got her cue so 
 soon ? 
 
 February 15. No news whatever of 
 Robert and Nadeshda. Yesterday the 
 ambassadress came here to tea and said 
 158 
 
The Social Secret ai35 
 
 to Mrs. Burke that she had had a letter 
 from Nadeshda in which she sent us 
 all her love — "especially your dear, 
 splendid, big Monsieur Cyrus." Mr. and 
 Mrs. Burke are to dine at the embassy 
 five weeks from to-night — the ambas- 
 sadress insisted on Mrs. Burke's giving 
 her first free evening to her, and that 
 was it. 
 
 "I reckon we'll have to go," said 
 "ma" after her departure, and while the 
 odor of her frightfully-powerful helio- 
 trope scent was still heavy in the room, 
 "though I doubt if I'll be alive by then. 
 Sometimes it seems to me I've just got 
 to knock off and take a clean week in 
 bed. I thought I'd never think of drugs 
 to keep me going, as so many women 
 advise. But I see I'm getting round to 
 it. And I'm getting that fat in the body 
 and that lean in the face ! Did you ever 
 
 159 
 
The Social Secretai35 
 
 see the like? I must 'a' lost three pounds 
 off my face. And the skin's hanging 
 there waiting for it to come back, in- 
 stead of shrinking. I'm glad my Tom 
 never looks at me. I know to a certainty 
 he ain't looked at me in twenty years. 
 Husbands and wives don't waste much 
 time looking at each other, and I guess 
 it's a good, safe plan." 
 
 Mrs. Burke does look badly. I must 
 take better care of her. Cyrus looks 
 badly, too. I haven't seen him to talk 
 to since he made his "strictly business" 
 proposition. I suppose he wants me to 
 realize that he isn't one of the pestering 
 kind. I'm sorry he takes it that way, 
 as I'd have liked to be friends with him. 
 He quarreled so beautifully when we 
 didn't agree. It's a great satisfaction to 
 have some one at hand who both agrees 
 and quarrels in a satisfactory way. But 
 i6o 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 I don't dare make any advances to him. 
 He might misunderstand. 
 
 I've just been laughing — at his cow- 
 lick. It is such an obstinate little sw^irl. 
 And when he looks serious it looks so 
 funnily frisky, and when he smiles it 
 looks so fiercely serious and disapprov- 
 ing. Yesterday I hurried suddenly into 
 the little room just off the ball-room, 
 thinking it was empty. But Cyrus and 
 his mother were there, and he was tick- 
 ling her, and he looked so fond of her, 
 and she looked so delighted. I slipped 
 away without their seeing me. 
 
 February i6. We gave our second 
 big ball last night with a dinner for sixty 
 before. It was just half- past five this 
 morning when the last couple came 
 sneaking out from the alcove off the lit- 
 tle room beyond the conservatory and, 
 we pretending not to see them, scuttled 
 i6i 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 away without saying good night. 
 Major-General Cutler danced with Mrs. 
 Burke in the opening quadrille, and 
 Mr. Burke danced with the British am- 
 bassadress — the ambassador is ill. I had 
 Jim on my hands most of the evening 
 — though I was flirting desperately with 
 little D'Estourelle, he hung to me with 
 a maddening husbandish air of propri- 
 etorship. I don't see how I ever en- 
 dured him, much less thought of marry- 
 ing him. Cyrus Burke is a king beside 
 him. Excuse me from men who think 
 the fact that they've done a woman the 
 honor of loving her gives them a prop- 
 erty right to her. Mrs. Burke was the 
 belle of the ball. She had a crowd of 
 men round her chair all evening, laugh- 
 ing at everything she said, 
 
 February 17. A cable from Robert 
 Gunton at Hamburg this morning — 
 162 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 just "Arrive Washington about March 
 3." That was all — worse than nothing. 
 It is Lent, but there's no let up for us. 
 We only get rid of the kind of enter- 
 tainments that cost us the least trouble 
 to plan and give, and we have to arrange 
 more of the kind that have to be done 
 carefully. Anybody can give a dance, 
 but it takes skill to give a successful 
 dinner. 
 
 February 19. Nadeshda's sister said 
 to-day, quite casually, to Jessie: "Desh- 
 da's coming back, and we're so glad. 
 The trip has done her so much good — 
 in every way." Now, whatever did that 
 mean? 
 
 163 
 
VI 
 
 FEBRUARY 26. No news of 
 Robert and Nadeshda. Have 
 been glancing through this diary. 
 How conceited I am, taking credit to 
 myself for everything. I wonder if I 
 am vainer than most people, or does 
 everybody make the same ridiculous dis- 
 covery about himself when he takes 
 himself off his guard? What an imper- 
 fect record this is of our launching. But 
 then, if I had made it perfect I should 
 have had to go into so many wearisome 
 details, not to speak of my having so 
 164 
 
The Social Secret a^SJ 
 
 little time. Still, it would have been 
 interesting to read some day, when I 
 shall have forgotten the little steps — for 
 although we've had in all only a month 
 before the season and five weeks between 
 New Year's and Ash Wednesday, so 
 much has been crowded into that time. 
 It's amazing what one can accomplish 
 if one uses every moment to a single 
 purpose. And I've not only used my 
 own time, but Robert's and Jessie's and 
 the time of their and my friends, and 
 that of Nadeshda and a dozen other peo- 
 ple. They and I all worked together 
 to make my enterprise a success — and 
 Jim and the Senator, and "ma" Burke 
 was a great help after the first few 
 weeks. Yes, and I mustn't forget Cyrus. 
 He has made himself astonishingly pop- 
 ular. I see now that he showed a bet- 
 ter side to every one than he did to me. 
 165 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 Perhaps I can guess why. I wonder if 
 he really cares or did care — for me, or 
 was it just "ma" trying to get me into 
 the family, and he willing to do any- 
 thing she asked of him? 
 
 But to go back to my vanity— I see 
 that Jessie, Rachel and Cyrus were the 
 real cause of my success. Jessie and 
 Rachel alone could make anybody, who 
 wasn't positively awful, a go. Then 
 Nadeshda, bent on marrying Cyrus at 
 first, was a big help — and every mama 
 with a marriageable daughter was hot 
 on Cyrus' trail. So it's easy to make 
 an infallible recipe for getting into so- 
 ciety: First, wealth; second, willingness 
 to act on competent advice; third, get 
 a "secretary" who knows society and 
 has intimate friends in its most exclu- 
 sive set, and who also knows how to 
 arrange entertainments; fourth, have a 
 i66 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 marriageable son, if possible, or, failing 
 that, a daughter, or, failing that, a near 
 relative who will be well dowered; fifth, 
 organize the campaign thoroughly and 
 pay particular attention to getting your- 
 self liked by the few people who really 
 count. You can't bribe them; you can't 
 drive them; you must amuse them. The 
 more leisure people have the harder it 
 is to amuse them. 
 
 Looking back, I can see that "ma" 
 Burke passed her social crisis when, on 
 January 5, Mrs. Gaether asked her to 
 assist at her reception. For Mrs. 
 Gaether was the first social power who 
 took "ma" up simply and solely because 
 she liked her. 
 
 We have spent a great deal of money, 
 
 but not half what the Tevises have spent. 
 
 But our money counted because it was 
 
 incidental. Mere money won't carry any 
 
 167 
 
The Social Secret aG5 
 
 one very far in Washington — I don't 
 believe it will anywhere, except, per- 
 haps, in New York. 
 
 I ought to have kept some sort of 
 record of what we've done from day to 
 day — I mean, more detailed than my 
 books. However, I'll just put in our 
 last full day before Lent, as far as I can 
 recall it. No, I'll only write out what 
 Mrs. Burke alone did that day: 
 
 7:30 to 10. She and I, in her room, 
 went over the arrangements for the ball 
 we were giving in the evening. 
 
 10 to 12:30, She went to see half a 
 dozen people about various social matters, 
 besides doing a great deal of shopping. 
 
 12:30 to 1:45. More worrying con- 
 sultation with me, then dressing for 
 luncheon. 
 
 1:45 *o 3"45' -^ 1°^S ^^^ tiresome 
 luncheon at one of the embassies. 
 
 168 
 
The Social Secretai35 
 
 3:45 to 6:30. More than twenty calls 
 and teas — a succession of exhausting 
 rushes and struggles. 
 
 6:30 to 7:15. In the drawing-room 
 here, with a lot of people coming and 
 going. 
 
 7:15 to 8. Dressing for dinner — a 
 frightful rush. 
 
 8 to 8:30. Receiving the dinner 
 guests. 
 
 8:30 to 10:45. The dinner. 
 
 10:45 ^° midnight. Receiving the 
 guests for the dance — on her feet all the 
 time. 
 
 Midnight to 6 in the morning. Sit- 
 ting, but incessantly busy. 
 
 6 to 9. In bed. 
 
 9. A new and crowded day. 
 
 This has been a short season, but I 
 don't think it was the shortness, crowd- 
 ing much into a few days, that made 
 169 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 the pressure so great. It's simply that 
 year by year Washington becomes so- 
 cially worse and worse. As I looked 
 round at that last ball of ours I pitied 
 the people who were nerving themselves 
 up to trying to enjoy themselves. 
 
 Almost every one was, and looked, 
 worn out. Here and there the un- 
 natural brightness of eyes or cheeks 
 showed that somebody — usually a young 
 person — had been driven to some sort of 
 stimulant to enable him or her to hold 
 the pace. Quick to laugh; quick to 
 frown and bite the lips in almost uncon- 
 trollable anger. Nerves on edge, flesh 
 quivering. 
 
 Yet, what is one to do? To be "in 
 it" one must go all the time; not to go 
 all the time, not to accept all the prin- 
 cipal invitations, is to make enemies 
 right and left. Besides, who that gets 
 170 
 
The Social Secreta©$ 
 
 into the hysterical state which the 
 Washington season induces can be con- 
 tent to sit quietly at home when on 
 every side there are alluring opportuni- 
 ties to enjoy? 
 
 No wonder we see less and less of the 
 ^nen of importance. No wonder the 
 "sons of somebodies" and the young 
 men of the embassies and legations and 
 departments, most of them amiable 
 enough, but all just about as near nothing 
 as you would naturally expect, are the 
 best the women can get to their houses. 
 
 It is foolish; it is frightful . But it is 
 somehow fascinating, and it gives us 
 wornen the chance to go the same reck- 
 less American gait that the men go in 
 their business and professions. 
 
 J. 
 
 I am utterly worn out. I might be 
 asleep at this moment. Yet I'm sitting 
 here alone, too feverish for hope of rest. 
 171 
 
The Social Secretao^ 
 
 And I can see lights in Cyrus' apart- 
 ment and in Senator Burke's sitting- 
 room, and I don't doubt poor "ma" is 
 tossing miserably in a vain attempt to 
 get the sleep that used to come unasked 
 and stay until it was fought off. 
 
 It is Lent, and the season is supposed 
 to be over. But the rush is still on, and 
 other things vrhich crowd and jam in 
 more than fill up the vacant space left by 
 big, formal parties. It seems to me that 
 there is even as much dancing as there was 
 two weeks ago. The only difference is 
 that it isn't formally arranged for be- 
 forehand. 
 
 I'd like to "shut off steam" — indeed, 
 it seems to me that I must if "ma" 
 Burke is not to be sacrificed. But how 
 can we? People expect us to entertain, 
 and we must go out to their afiairs also. 
 The only escape would be to fly, and 
 172 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 we can't do that so long as Congress 
 is sitting. 
 
 February 27. Robert and Nadeshda 
 are both in town, he with us, she at the 
 embassy. They are to be married the 
 twelfth of April. The engagement is to 
 be announced to-morrow. I've never seen 
 any one more demure than Nadeshda, or 
 happier. I suspect she's going to settle 
 down into the most domestic of women. 
 Indeed, I know it — for, as she says, she's 
 afraid of him, obeys him as a dog its mas- 
 ter, and the domestic side of her is the 
 only one he'll tolerate. I've always heard 
 that her sort of woman is the tamest, 
 once it's under control. She has will 
 but no continuity. He has a stronger 
 will and his purposes are unalterable. 
 So he'll continue to dominate her. 
 
 "Ma" Burke asked him, "How did 
 you make out with her folks?" 
 
 173 
 
The 'Social Secreta©^ 
 
 He smiled, then laughed. 
 
 "I don't know — exactly," he said. 
 "They couldn't talk my language nor 
 I theirs. So it was all done through an 
 interpreter. And he was Mrs. Dean's 
 brother-in-law, Prince Gluckstein, 
 and a regular trump. He saw them 
 half a dozen times before I did. 
 When I saw them everything was 
 lovely. They left me alone with her 
 after twenty minutes. Finally it was 
 agreed that we should come back on 
 the same steamer, her brother accom- 
 panying her." 
 
 "But why on earth didn't you cable 
 us?" she demanded. 
 
 "I did," he replied. 
 
 "But you didn't tell us anything," 
 she returned. 
 
 "I told you all there was to tell," he 
 replied. 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 "You only said you were coming," 
 she objected. 
 
 "Well," he answered, looking 
 somewhat surprised, "I knew you'd 
 know I wouldn't come without her." 
 
 I'm glad he didn't get it into his 
 head to "take after" me. A woman 
 stands no more chance with a man like 
 that than a rabbit with a greyhound. 
 
 February 29. "Ma" Burke is dread- 
 fully ill — has been for two days. The 
 doctors have got several large Latin 
 names for it, but the plain truth is that 
 she has broken down under the strain 
 she seemed to be bearing so placidly. 
 She didn't give up until she was abso- 
 lutely unable to lift herself out of bed. 
 "I knew it was coming," she said, "but 
 I thought I had spirit enough to put 
 it off till I had more time." 
 
 It wasn't until she did give up that 
 
 ^75 
 
The Social SecretaiQi 
 
 Jh er face really showed how badly off 
 she was. I was sitting by her bed when 
 "pa" Burke and Cyrus came in. I 
 couldn't bear to look at them, yet I 
 couldn't keep my eyes oiF their faces. 
 Both got deadly white at sight of her, 
 and "pa" rushed from the room after a 
 moment or two. The doctor had cau- 
 tioned him against alarming her by 
 showing any signs of grief. But "pa" 
 couldn't stand it. He went to his study, 
 and the housekeeper told me he cried 
 like a baby. Cyrus stayed, and I couldn't 
 help admiring the way he put on cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 "I'll be all right in a few days," said 
 "ma." "It wasn't what I did; it was 
 what I et. I'm such a fool that I can't 
 let things that look good go by. And 
 I went from house to house, munching 
 away, cake here, candy there, choco- 
 176 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 late yonder, besides lunches and dinners 
 and suppers. I et in and I et out. Now, 
 I reckon I've got to settle the bill. 
 Thank the Lord I don't have to do it 
 standing up." 
 
 Cyrus and I w^ent away from her 
 room together. "If she wasn't so good," 
 said he, more to himself than to me, 
 "I'd not be so — so uncertain." 
 
 "I feel that I'm to blame," said I 
 bitterly. "It was I that gave her all 
 those things to do." 
 
 He was silent, and his silence fright- 
 ened me. I had felt that I was partly 
 to blame. His silence made me feel 
 that I was wholly to blame, and that 
 he thought so. 
 
 "If I could only undo it," I said, in 
 what little voice I could muster. 
 
 "If you only could," he muttered. 
 
 I was utterly crushed. Every bit of 
 177 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 my courage fled, and — but what's the 
 use of trying to describe it? It was as 
 if I had tried to murder her and had 
 come to my senses and was realizing 
 what I'd done. 
 
 I suppose I must have shown what 
 was in my mind, for, all of a sudden, 
 with a sort of sob or groan, he put his 
 arms round me — such a strong yet such 
 a gentle clasp! "Don't look like that, 
 dear!" he pleaded. "Forgive me — 
 it was cowardly, what I said — and not 
 true. We're all to blame — you the least. 
 Haven't I seen, day after day, how you've 
 done everything you could to spare her 
 — how you've worn yourself out?" 
 
 He let me go as suddenly as he had 
 seized me. 
 
 "I'm not fit to be called a man!" he 
 exclaimed. "Just because I loved you, 
 and was always thinking of you, and 
 
 178 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 watching you, and worrying about you, 
 I neglected to think of mother. If I'd 
 given her a single thought I'd have 
 known long ago that she was ill." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Burke's maid called 
 me — she was only a few yards away, 
 and must have seen everything. I hur- 
 ried back to the room we had quitted 
 a few minutes before. "You must cheer 
 up those two big, foolish men, child," 
 she said. "You all think I'm going to 
 pass over, but I'm not. You won't get 
 rid of me for many a year. And I rely 
 on you to prevent them from going all 
 to pieces." 
 
 She paused and looked at me wist- 
 fully, as if she longed to say something 
 but was afraid she had no right to. I 
 said: "What is it — ma.?" 
 
 Her face brightened. "Come, kiss 
 me," she murmured. "Thank you for 
 179 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 saying that. We're very different in lots 
 of ways, being raised so different. But 
 hearts have a way of finding each other, 
 haven't they?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "What I wanted to say was about — 
 Cyrus," she went on. "My Cyrus told 
 me that he don't see how he could get 
 along without you, no way, and I ad- 
 vised him to talk to you about it, be- 
 cause I knew it'd relieve his mind and 
 because it'd set you to looking at him in 
 a different way. Anyhow, it's always 
 a good plan to ask for what you want. 
 And he did — and he told me you wouldn't 
 hear to him. Don't think I'm trying to 
 persuade you. All I meant to say is 
 that—" 
 
 She stopped and smiled, a bright 
 shadow of that old, broad, beaming smile 
 of hers. 
 
 l8o 
 
The Social SecretaGk? 
 
 ^•I'd do anything for you!" I ex- 
 claimed, on impulse. 
 
 "I'm afraid that wouldn't suit Cyrus," 
 she drawled, good humoredly. "He'd 
 be mad as the Old Scratch if he knew 
 what I was up to now. Well — do the; 
 best you can. But don't do anything 
 unless it's for his sake. Only — just look 
 him over again. There's a lot to Cyrus 
 besides his coivlick. And he's been so 
 dead in love with you ever since he first 
 saw you that he's been making a perfect 
 fool of himself every time he looked at 
 you or spoke to you. Sometimes, when 
 I've seen the way he's acted up, like a 
 farmhand waltzing in cowhides, I've felt 
 like taking him over my knees and lay- 
 ing it on good and hard." 
 
 I was laughing so that I couldn't 
 answer — the reaction from the fear that 
 she might be very, very ill had made me 
 i8i 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 hysterical. I could still see that she was 
 sick, extremely sick, but I realized that 
 our love for her had just put us into a 
 pi^iiic. 
 
 "Do the best you can, dear," she ended. 
 "And everything — all the entertaining 
 here and the going' out — must be kept 
 up just the same as if I vs^as being 
 dragged about down stairs j istead of lying 
 up here resting." 
 
 She insisted on this, and would not be 
 content until she had my promise. " And 
 don't forget to cheer pa and Cyrus up. 
 I never was sick before — not a day. 
 That's why they take on so." 
 
 I think I have been succeeding in 
 cheering them up. And everything is 
 going forward as before — except, of 
 course, that we've cut out every engage- 
 ment we possibly could. 
 
 It's amazing how many friends "ma" 
 182 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 Burke has made in such a short time. 
 Ever since the news of her illness got 
 out, the front door has been opening and 
 shutting all day long. And those of the 
 callers that I've seen have shown a real 
 interest. This has made me have a bet- 
 ter opinion of human nature than I had 
 thought I could have. I suppose half 
 the seeming heartlessness in this world 
 is suspicion and a sort of miserly dread 
 lest one should give kindly feeling with- 
 out getting any of it in return. But 
 "ma" Burke, who never bothers her 
 head for an instant about whether peo- 
 ple like her, and gets all her pleasure 
 out of liking them, makes friends by the 
 score. 
 
 I'm in a queer state of mind about 
 Cyrus. 
 
 March 3. "Ma" Burke was brought 
 down to the drawing-room for tea 
 183 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 to-day. She held a regular levee. Those 
 that came early spread it round, and by 
 six o'clock they were pouring in. She 
 looked extremely well, and gloriously 
 happy. All she had needed was com- 
 plete rest and sleep — and less to eat. 
 "After this," she said, "I'm not going 
 to eat more than four or five meals a 
 day. At my age a woman can't stand 
 the strain often and twelve — my record 
 was sixteen — counting two teas as one 
 meal." For an hour there was hilarious 
 chattering in English, French, German, 
 Italian, Russian, and mixtures of all five. 
 I think the thing that most fascinates 
 Mrs. Burke about Washington is the 
 many languages spoken. She looks at 
 me in an awed way when I trot out my 
 three in quick succession. And she re- 
 gards the women as superhuman who 
 speak so many languages so fluently that 
 184 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 they drift from one to the other with- 
 out being quite sure what they're speak- 
 ing. There certainly were enough going 
 on at once to-day, and a good many of 
 the women smoked. 
 
 But to return to Mrs. Burke. When 
 only a few of those we know best were 
 left this afternoon, and Nadeshda was 
 smoking, Jessie, who is always so tact- 
 ful, said to Robert: "I'm glad to see 
 that you don't object to Nadeshda's 
 smoking." 
 
 Mrs. Burke laughed. "Why should 
 he?" said she. "Why, when we were 
 children ma and pa used to sit on oppo- 
 site sides of the chimney, smoking their 
 pipes. And ma dipped, too, when it wasn't 
 convenient for her to have her pipe." 
 
 "Do you smoke, Mrs. Burke?" asked 
 Jessie, with wide, serious eyes. "I never 
 saw you." 
 
 i8s 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 "No, I don't," she confessed. "Tom 
 used to hate the smell of it, so I never 
 got into the habit." 
 
 Nadeshda was tremendously amused 
 by what Mrs. Burke had said about 
 pipes. "I didn't know it was consid- 
 ered nice for a lady to smoke in Amer- 
 ica until recently," said she. "And 
 pipes! How eccentric! Mama smokes 
 cigars — one after dinner, but I never 
 heard of a lady smoking a pipe." 
 
 "Ma wasn't a lady — what you!d call 
 a lady," replied Mrs. Burke. "She was 
 just a plain woman. She didn't smoke 
 because she thought it was fashionable, 
 but because she thought it was comfort- 
 able. As soon as we children got a little 
 older we used to be terribly ashamed of 
 it — but she kept right on. And now it's 
 come in style." 
 
 "Not pipes" said Jessie. 
 i86 
 
TheSocial Secreta©^ 
 
 "Not yet" said "ma," with a smile. 
 
 When I thought they had all gone, 
 and I was writing in my "office" for a 
 few minutes before going up to dress, 
 Nadeshda came in to me. "Ma" Burke 
 used often to say that Nadeshda's eyes 
 were "full of the Old Scratch," but cer- 
 tainly they were not at that moment. 
 She was giving- me a glimpse of that 
 side which, as Browning, I think, says, 
 even the meanest creature has and shows 
 only to the person he or she loves. 
 Not that Nadeshda loves me, but she 
 has that side turned outermost nowa- 
 days whenever she hasn't the veil drawn 
 completely over her real self. 
 
 "My dear," she said in French, "what 
 is it? Why these little smiles all after- 
 noon whenever you forgot where you 
 were?" 
 
 I couldn't help blushing. "I don't 
 187 
 
The Social Secreta©^ 
 
 quite know, myself," I replied — and it 
 was so. 
 
 "Oh, you cold, cold, fo/.:/ Americans! " 
 — then she paused and gave me one of 
 her strange smiles, with her eyes elon- 
 gated and her lips just parted — "I mean, 
 you American women." 
 
 "Cold, because we don't set ourselves 
 on fire?" I inquired. 
 
 "But yes," she answered, "yourselves, 
 and the men, too. Never mind. I shall 
 not peep into your little secret." She 
 laughed. "It always chills me to grope 
 round in one of your cold American 
 women's hearts." 
 
 "I wish you could tell me what my 
 secret is — and that's the plain truth," 
 said I. 
 
 She laughed again, shrugged her 
 shoulders, pinched my cheek, nodded 
 her head until her big plumed hat was 
 i88 
 
TheSocial Secreta©5 
 
 all in a quiver and was shaking out vol- 
 umes of the strong, heavy perfume she 
 uses. And without saying anything 
 more she went away. 
 
 March 4. Cyrus and I sat next each 
 other at dinner at the Secretary of War's 
 to-night. It has happened several times 
 this winter, as the precedence is often 
 very difficult to arrange at small din- 
 ners. Old Alex Bartlett took me in, and 
 as he's stone deaf and a monstrous eater 
 I was free. 
 
 Cyrus had taken in a silent little girl 
 who has just come out. She had ex- 
 hausted her little line of prearranged 
 conversation before the fish was taken 
 away. So Cyrus talked to me. 
 
 "She's grateful for my letting her 
 
 alone," said he when I tried to turn 
 
 him back to his duty. "Besides, if I 
 
 didn't meet you out once in a while 
 
 189 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 you'd forget me entirely. And I don't 
 v/ant that, if I can avoid it." 
 
 "Thank you," said I, for lack of any- 
 thing else to say, and with not the re- 
 motest intention of irritating him. But 
 he flushed scarlet, and frowned. 
 
 "You always and deliberately miscon- 
 strue everything I say," said he bitterly. 
 "I know I'm unfortunate in trying to 
 express myself to you, but why do you 
 never attribute to me anything but the 
 worst intentions?" 
 
 "And why should you assume that 
 every careless reply I make is a care- 
 fully thought out attack on you?" I re- 
 torted. "Don't you think your vanity 
 makes you morbid?" 
 
 "You know perfectly well that it 
 isn't vanity that makes me think you 
 especially dislike me," said he. 
 
 "But I don't," I answered. "I con- 
 190 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 fess I did at first, but not since I've come 
 to know you better." 
 
 "Why did you dislike me at first?" 
 he asked. "You began on me with al- 
 most the first moment of our acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 "That's true— I did," I admitted. "I 
 had a reason for it — didn't Nadeshda tell 
 you what it was?" 
 
 He looked frightened. 
 
 "Be frank, if you want me to be 
 frank," said I. 
 
 "I never for an instant believed what 
 she said," he replied abjectly. Then 
 after a warning look from me, he added 
 — "Really believed it, I mean." 
 
 "And what was it that you didn't 
 really believe?" I demanded. 
 
 He looked at me boldly. "Nadeshda 
 and one or two others told me that you 
 and your friends had arranged it for me 
 191 
 
The Social SecretaQ^ 
 
 to marry you. But, of course, I knew it 
 wasn't so." 
 
 "But it was so," I replied, "You 
 were one of the considerations that de- 
 termined my friends in trying to get 
 me my place." 
 
 "Well — and why didn't you take me 
 when I finally fell into the trap?" 
 
 I let him see I was laughing at him. 
 
 He scowled — his cowlick did look 
 so funny that I longed to pull it. "Simply 
 couldn't stand me — not even for the 
 sake of what I brought," he said. And 
 then he gave me a straight, searching 
 look. "I wonder why I don't hate you," 
 he went on. "I wonder why I am such 
 an ass as to care for you. Yes — even if 
 I knew you didn't care for me, still I'd 
 want you. Can a man make a more de- 
 grading confession than that?" 
 
 "But why?" said I, very careful not 
 192 
 
The Social Secreta?^ 
 
 to let him see how eagerly I longed to 
 hear him say the words again. "Why 
 should you want — me?" 
 
 He gave a very unpleasant laugh. "If 
 you think I'm going to sit here and ex- 
 hibit my feelings for your amusement 
 you're going to be disappointed. It's 
 none of your business isohy. Certainly 
 not because I find anything sweet or 
 amiable or even kind in you." 
 
 "That's rude," said I. 
 
 "It was intended to be," said he. 
 
 "Please — let's not quarrel now," said 
 I coldly. "It gives me the headache 
 to quarrel during dinner." 
 
 And he answered between his set 
 teeth, "To quarrel with you — anywhere 
 — gives me — the heartache, Gus." 
 
 I had no answer for that, nor should 
 I have had the voice to utter it if I 
 had had it. And then Mr. Bartlett be- 
 
 193 
 
The Social Secret a^k^ 
 
 gan prosing to me about the Greeley- 
 Grant campaign. And when the men 
 came to join the women after dinner 
 Cyrus went away almost immediately. 
 
 I am so happy to-night. 
 
 March 5. Cyrus came to me in my 
 office to-day — as I had expected. But 
 instead of looking woebegone and abject, 
 he was radiant. He shut the door be- 
 hind him. "Ton — guilty of cowardice," 
 he began. "It isn't strange that I never 
 suspected it." 
 
 "What do you mean?" I asked, not 
 putting down my pen. 
 
 He came over and took it out of my 
 fingers, then he took my fingers and 
 kissed them, one by one. I was so 
 astounded — and something else — that I 
 made not the slightest resistance. "It's 
 useless for you to cry out," he said, "for 
 I've got the outer door well guarded." 
 
 194 
 
•N.^ 
 
The Social Secreta©5 
 
 I started up aflame with indignation. 
 "Who — whom — " I began. 
 
 "Ma," he replied. 
 
 "Oh!" I exclaimed, looking round 
 with a wild idea of making a dart for 
 liberty. 
 
 " Ma," he repeated, "and it's not of the 
 slightest use for you to try to side-step. 
 You're cornered." He had both my 
 hands now i.nd was looking at me at 
 arm's length. "So you are afraid to 
 marry me for fear people — your friends 
 — will say that — I walked right into 
 the trap?" 
 
 I hung my head and couldn't keep 
 from trembling, I was so ashamed. 
 
 "And if it wasn't for that you'd ac- 
 cept my 'proposition' — now — wouldn't 
 you?" 
 
 "I would not," I replied, wrenching 
 myself away with an effort that put my 
 
 ^95 
 
The Social Secret a©5 
 
 hair topsy-turvy — it always does try to 
 come down if I make a sudden move- 
 ment, and I washed it only yesterday. 
 
 "What gorgeous hair you have!" he 
 said. "Sometimes I've caught a glimpse 
 of it just as I was entering a room — 
 and I've had to retreat and compose 
 myself to make a fresh try." 
 
 "You've been talking to your moth- 
 er!" I exclaimed — I'd been casting about 
 for an explanation of all this sudden 
 shrewdness of his in ways feminine. 
 
 "I have," said he. "It's as important 
 to her as to me that you don't escape." 
 
 "And she told you that I was in love 
 •with, you!" I tried to put a little — not 
 too much — scorn into the "you." 
 
 "She did," he answered. "Do you 
 deny that it's true?" 
 
 "I have told you I would never accept 
 your 'proposition,' " was my answer. 
 196 
 
The Social Secretagk^ 
 
 "So you did," said he. "Then you 
 mean that you're going to sacrifice my 
 mother's happiness and mine, simply 
 because you're afraid of being accused 
 of mercenary motives?" 
 
 "I shall never accept your 'proposi- 
 tion,'" I repeated, with a faint smile 
 that was a plain hint. 
 
 He came very close to me and looked 
 down into my face. "What do you 
 mean by that?" he demanded. And 
 then he must have remembered what his 
 proposition was — a strictly business ar- 
 rangement on both sides. For, with a 
 sort of gasp of relief, he took me in his 
 arms. I do love the combination of 
 strength and tenderness in a man. He 
 had looked and talked and been so 
 strong up to that instant. Then he was 
 so tender — I could hardly keep back the 
 tears. 
 
 197 
 
The Social Secretaoj 
 
 "Wouldn't you like me to tell moth- 
 er?" he asked. "She's just in the next 
 room — and — " 
 
 I nodded and said, "I never should 
 have caught you if it hadn't been for 
 her." 
 
 "Nor I you," said he. And he put 
 me in a chair and opened the door. I 
 somehow^ couldn't look up, though I 
 knew she vs^as there. 
 
 "I don't know whether to laugh or 
 cry," said "ma" Burke. "So I guess 
 I'll just do both." And then she seated 
 herself and was as good as her word.