The young men entered the sitting-room. Mrs. Sage was standing almost directly under the chandelier, talking to dumpy little Mrs. Grimes; the light from above fell upon her auburn crown, flooded her magnificent shoulders and arms, and then wavered timidly, almost helplessly, as it first came in contact with resplendent opposition. The actress was a head taller than Mrs. Grimes, who nevertheless bravely stood her ground and faced comparison with all the hardihood of the righteous. Oliver’s housekeeper succeeded in disguising the astonishment occasioned by the gown of silver spangles, but she could not master the wonder and the admiration that filled her eyes as she gazed upon the smooth, alabaster arms and neck and bosom of the magnificent Josephine. Nor could she understand the soft, warm cheeks, or the dusky shadows under the sparkling eyes, or the moist black lashes that sometimes veiled them. Mr. Sage, with a distinctly bewildered and somewhat embarrassed expression keeping company with the proud and doting smile that seemed to be stamped upon his lean visage, stood across the room with his daughter and Mrs. Sammy, his hands behind his back, his feet spread slightly apart the better to allow him the unctuous relaxation of frequently rising on his toes and then slowly settling back upon his heels again—another and simple means of indicating partnership in pulchritude. “I can remember when there wasn’t a dinner jacket or a dress suit in Rumley,” said Josephine as the two tall young men approached. “And the only men who parted their hair in the middle were the ones who didn’t have any hair in the middle at all, at all. Most of the male member’s of Herbert’s congregation left the price tags on their Sunday suits for a whole winter so that people could tell when they were dressed up. Do you mean to tell me, Oliver, that those blighters intend to begin digging up your place to-morrow?” The mere thought of it caused her to waft her handkerchief in front of her nose, stirring the air with the rare, pungent odor of _nuit de chine_. Oliver laughed. “I think we’ll all rather enjoy the excitement, Aunt Josephine,” he said. “Besides, now that I am in politics, I want to keep as much in the limelight as possible. I suppose they’ll begin prying up the kitchen floor to-morrow, or digging trenches in the cellar, or tearing up the flower-beds. It will be worth coming miles to see.” She looked at him narrowly. “What utter rot! Do they expect to find your father buried in the cellar or under the kitchen floor?” “They don’t expect to find him at all,” replied Oliver, with unintentional shortness. “There will be trouble,” said Mrs. Grimes, the light of battle in her eye, “if they make a mess around this house.” “Aunt Serepta will fix ’em,” said Oliver, putting his arm around the little woman’s shoulders. “Won’t you, Auntie?” “She’ll boil ’em in oil,” said Sammy, very gravely.