In his bewilderment Thatcher had overlooked a letter lying on his table.
It was from his Washington lawyer. The concluding paragraph caught his
eye,--"Perhaps it would be well if you came here yourself. Roscommon is
here; and they say there is a niece of Garcia's, lately appeared, who is
likely to get up a strong social sympathy for the old Mexican. I don't
know that they expect to prove anything by her; but I'm told she
is attractive and clever, and has enlisted the sympathies of the
delegation." Thatcher laid the letter down a little indignantly. Strong
men are quite as liable as weak women are to sudden inconsistencies on
any question they may have in common. What right had this poor little
bud he had cherished,--he was quite satisfied now that he had cherished
her, and really had suffered from her absence,--what right had she to
suddenly blossom in the sunshine of power to be, perhaps, plucked and
worn by one of his enemies? He did not agree with his lawyer that she
was in any way connected with his enemies: he trusted to her masculine
loyalty that far.
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