years of Ben's age, and yet certainly she showed no signs of it to his
eyes, which, though keen enough, were, after a male fashion,
unsophisticated. She was a very pretty woman, _petite_, alert, and
decidedly winsome. He understood in a flash why Ben should have been
attracted to her; how she had held him to her own policies all these
years, largely because they were hers. She was dressed daintily; her
glossy brown hair was becomingly arranged about the bright, smiling
face. She chose to be very gracious to her husband's life-long friend,
giving him a small, plump hand in a welcoming grip, establishing him in
an instant, by some sleight of femininity which King did not plumb, as a
hearthside intimate most affectionately regarded. His first two
impressions of her, arriving almost but not quite simultaneously, were
of youthful prettiness and cleverness.

She slipped to a place on the arm of Gaynor's chair, her hand, whose
well-kept beauty caught and held King's eyes for a moment, toying with
her husband's greying hair.

"She loves old Ben," thought King. "That's right."

Mrs. Ben Gaynor was what is known as a born hostess very charming.
Hostess to her husband, of whom she saw somewhat less each year than of
a number of other friends. She had always the exactly proper meed of
intimacy to offer each guest in accordance with the position he had come
to occupy, or which she meant him to occupy, in her household. Akin to
her in instinct were those distinguished ladies of the colourful past
of whom romantic history has it that in the salons of their doting lords
and masters they gave direction, together with impetus or retardation,
to muddy political currents. Clever women.