Miss Hugonin smiled a little bitterly. She considered that the scales had fallen from her eyes, and flattered herself that she was by way of becoming a bit of a misanthrope; also, I believe, there was a note concerning the hollowness of life and the worthlessness of society in general. In a word, Margaret fell back upon the extreme cynicism and world-weariness of twenty-three, and assured herself that she despised everybody, whereas, as a matter of fact, she never in her life succeeded in disliking anything except mice and piano-practice, and, for a very little while, Billy Woods; and this for the very excellent reason that the gods had fashioned her solely to the end that she might love all mankind, and in return be loved by humanity in general and adored by that portion of it which inhabits trousers. But, "The rats always desert a sinking ship," said Miss Hugonin, with the air of one delivering a particularly original sentiment. "They make me awfully tired, and I don't care for them in the least. But Petheridge Jukesbury is a _dear_, and I may be poor now, but I _did_ try to do good with the money when I had it, and _anyhow_, Billy is going to get well." And, after all, that was the one thing that really mattered, though of course Billy would always despise her. He would be quite right, too, the girl thought humbly. But the conventionalities of life are more powerful than even youthful cynicism and youthful heart-break. Prior to devoting herself to a loveless life and the commonplaces of the stoic's tub, Miss Hugonin was compelled by the barest decency to bid her guests Godspeed. And Adèle Haggage kissed her for the first time in her life. She had been a little awed by Miss Hugonin, the famous heiress--a little jealous of her, I dare say, on account of Hugh Van Orden--but now she kissed her very heartily in farewell, and said, "Don't forget you are to come to us as soon as _possible_," and was beyond any question perfectly sincere in saying it. And Hugh Van Orden almost dragged Margaret under the main stairway, and, far from showing any marked abhorrence to her in her present state of destitution, implored her with tears in his eyes to marry him at once, and to bring the Colonel to live with them for the rest of his natural existence. For, "It's damned impertinent of me, of course," Mr. Van Orden readily conceded, "and I suppose I ought to beg your pardon for mentioning it, but I _do_ love you to a perfectly unlimited extent. It's playing the very deuce with my polo, Miss Hugonin, and as for my appetite--why, if you won't have me," cried Hugh, in desperation, "I--I really, you know, I don't believe I'll _ever_ be able to eat anything!" When Margaret refused him--for the sixth time, I think--I won't swear that she didn't kiss him under the dark stairway. And if she did, he was a nice boy, and he deserved it.