True, Mrs. Houghton, of those funny, fashionable New Yorkers who
act as if they had only just arrived at the estate of servants and
carriages, and are always trying to impress even passing strangers
with their money and their grandeur--true, Mrs. Houghton was most
provocative to anger or amused disdain at the fashionable life.
But not even Mrs. Houghton seemed to Margaret so cheap and pitiful
as this badly-dressed, mussy politician, as much an actor as Mrs.
Houghton and as poor at the trade, but choosing low comedy for his
unworthy attempts where Mrs. Houghton was at least trying to be
something refined.

With that instinct for hostility which is part of the equipment of
every sensitively-nerved man of action, Craig soon turned toward
her, addressed himself to her; and the others, glad to be free,
fell away. Margaret was looking her best. White was extremely
becoming to her; pink--pale pink--being next in order. Her dress
was of white, with facings of delicate pale pink, and the white
plumes in her hat were based in pale pink, which also lined the
inside of the brim. She watched him, and, now that it was once
more his personality pitted directly and wholly against hers, she,
in spite of herself, began to yield to him again her respect--the
respect every intelligent person must feel for an individuality
that is erect and strong. But as she was watching, her expression
was that of simply listening, without comment or intention to
reply--an expression of which she was perfect mistress. Her hazel
eyes, set in dark lashes, her sensuous mouth, her pallid skin,
smooth and healthy, seemed the climax of allurement to which all
the lines of her delightful figure pointed. To another woman it
would have been obvious that she was amusing herself by trying to
draw him under the spell of physical attraction; a man would have