She was a person who, if she had been born a duchess, would have made a reputation in history; the one woman in the county who had a mind and was not afraid to have it known. She used all the tricks of a duchess--lorgnettes, for example, with which she stared people into a state of fright. She did not dare try anything like that on the Castlemans, of course, but woe to the little people who crossed her path! She had an eye that sought out every human weakness, and such a wit that even her victims were fascinated. One of the legends about her told how her dearest foe, a dashing young matron, had died, and all the friends had gathered with their floral tributes. Sallie Ann went in to review the remains, and when she came out a sentimental voice inquired: “And how does our poor Ruth look?” “Oh,” was the answer, “as old and grey as ever!” Now Mrs. Armistead stopped Sylvia in the street: “My dear, how goes the eugenics campaign?” And while Sylvia gazed, dumbfounded, the other went on as if she were chatting about the weather: “You can’t realise what a stir you are making in our little frog pond. Come, see me, and let me tell you the gossip! Do you know you’ve enriched our vocabulary?” “I have made someone look up the meaning of eugenics, at least,” answered Sylvia--having got herself together in haste. “Oh, not only that, my dear. You have made a new medical term--the ‘van Tuiver disease.’ Isn’t that interesting?” For a moment Sylvia shrivelled before this flame from hell. But then, being the only person who had ever been able to chain this devil, she said: “Indeed? I hope that with so fashionable a name the disease does not become an epidemic!” Mrs. Armistead gazed at her, and then, in a burst of enthusiasm, she exclaimed: “Sylvia Castleman, I have always insisted that one of the most interesting women in the world was spoiled by the taint of goodness in you.” She took Sylvia to her bosom, as it were. “Let us sit on the fence and enjoy this spectacle! My dear, you can have no idea what an uproar you are making! The young married women gather in their boudoirs and whisper ghastly secrets to each other; some of them are sure they have it, and some of them say they can trust their husbands--as if any man could be trusted as far as you can throw a bull by the horns! Did you hear about poor Mrs. Pattie Peyton, she has the measles, but she sent for a specialist, and vowed she had something else--she had read about it, and knew all the symptoms, and insisted on having elaborate blood-tests! And little Mrs. Stanley Pendleton has left her husband, and everybody says that’s the reason. The men are simply shivering in their boots--they steal into the doctor’s offices by the back-doors, and a whole car-load of the boys have been shipped off to Hot Springs to be boiled--” And so on, while Mrs. Armistead revelled in the sensation of strolling down Main Street with Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver!