"I saw him this afternoon," continued Madam Bowker, talking aside to her alone when the ripples from the new stone in the pond had died away. "He's what they call a pretty rough customer. But he has his good points." "You liked him better?" said the astonished Margaret. "I disliked him less," corrected the old lady. "He's not a man any one"--this with emphasis and a sharp glance at her granddaughter--"likes. He neither likes nor is liked. He's too much of an ambition for such petty things. People of purpose divide their fellows into two classes, the useful and the useless. They seek allies among the useful, they avoid the useless." Margaret laughed. "Why do you laugh, child? Because you don't believe it?" Margaret sighed. "No, because I don't want to believe it." CHAPTER XV THE EMBASSY GARDEN PARTY Craig dined at the Secretary of State's that night, and reveled in the marked consideration every one showed him. He knew it was not because of his political successes, present and impending; in the esteem of that fashionable company his success with Margaret overtopped them. And while he was there, drinking more than was good for him and sharing in the general self-complacence, he thought so himself. But waking up about three in the morning, with an aching head and in the depths of the blues, the whole business took on again its grimmest complexion. "I'll talk it over again with Grant," he decided, and was at the Arkwright house a few minutes after eight. It so happened that Grant himself was wakeful that morning and had got up about half-past seven. When Craig came he was letting his valet dress him. He sent for Craig to come up to his dressing-room. "You can talk to me while Walter shaves me," said Grant from the armchair before his dressing table. He was spread out luxuriously and Josh watched the process of shaving as if he had never seen it before. Indeed, he never had seen a shave in such pomp and circumstance of silver and gold, of ivory and cut glass, of essence and powder. "That's a very ladylike performance for two men to be engaged in," said he. "It's damn comfortable," answered Grant lazily. "Where did you get that thing you've got on?" "This gown? Oh, Paris. I get all my things of that sort there. Latterly I get my clothes there, too." "I like that thing," said Craig, giving it a patronizing jerk of his head. "It looks cool and clean. Linen and silk, isn't it? Only I'd choose a more serviceable color than white. And I'd not have a pink silk lining and collar in any circumstances." He wandered about the room. "Goshalimity!" he exclaimed, peering into a drawer. "You must have a million neckties. And"--he was at the partly open door of a huge closet--"here's a whole roomful of shirts--and another of clothes." He wheeled abruptly upon the smiling, highly-flattered tenant of the armchair. "Grant, how many suits have you got?" "Blest if I know. How many, Walter?"