She welcomed Christopher with a smile, and he sat down, in his somewhat rumpled evening dress, and smiled back at her in a rather weary fashion. He often told her that these rooms of hers were a sanctuary, that he tested the men and women he met daily in the world by her fine and lofty standard. It was part of his utter generosity to her that he talked to her as frankly as if he thought aloud, and it was Alice's pride and joy to know that this marriage of theirs, which had so sadly and suddenly become no marriage at all, was not as one-sided as the world might have suspected. Her clear, dispassionate viewpoint and her dignified companionship were not wifehood, but they were dear and valuable to him none the less, a part of his life that he would not have spared. And he could still admire her, too, not only for the exquisite clearness of her intellect, her French and Italian, her knowledge of countries and affairs, but physically--the clear, childish forehead that was as unwrinkled as Leslie's, the fair, beautifully brushed hair, the mouth with its chiselling of wisdom and of pain, and the transparent hand from which she shook back transparent laces. She was always proud, always fresh and fragrant, always free for him and for his problems, and it was proverbial in the circle of their intimates that Chris admired Alice with all his heart, and never felt himself anything but the privileged guardian of a treasure. To-night he dropped into a chair before her fire, and she watched him for five or six restful minutes in silence. "Stupid dinner?" she ventured. "Rotten!" he answered, cheerfully. "I was late, but I got in to hear Hendrick's speech. The Vice-President was there, everyone else I knew. I cut away finally; I'm done up." "I thought you picked up Hendrick on your way and went together," Mrs. Liggett said, sympathetically. "I'm sorry it was dull--I suppose men have to go to these political things!" Chris was leaning forward, his locked hands dropped between his knees, and his eyes on the fire. "Hendrick and I stopped at your mother's," he said, deliberately, "and she was so upset that I sent Hendrick on alone!" Alice's eyes lighted apprehensively, but she spoke very quietly. "What was it, Chris? Leslie getting saucy?" "Oh, no, no! It was a complication of things, I imagine!" Christopher took out his cigarette-case, looked at its moiré surface reflectively, and selected a smoke. "She was tired--she'd been out in the snow--Leslie had gone off with Annie to some débutante affair--I daresay she felt blue. Alice, do you remember a woman named Kate Sheridan?" The question was sudden, and Alice blinked. "Yes, I do," she answered, after a moment's thought, "she was a sort of maid or travelling companion of Mama's. We called her Mrs. Sheridan--she was quite a superior sort of person." "What do you remember about her, dear?"