Mrs. Craighill bore the scrutiny of her new fellow-citizens with dignity, and by the first of December she had ceased to be a curiosity. She had met everyone of importance; even Mrs. Wingfield had been obliged to bow to her at a reception. Those who persisted in their determination to ignore her advent were too few to count. It had been hinted that she would prove loud; that she was dull; that she would make her husband’s money fly--“such women” always did; but no one worth considering was willing at the end of two months to say that she was properly to be classed among “such women.” Her severest critics were those who, habituated to the contemplation of Roger Craighill’s presence in a front pew at church, feared that by marrying one of “such women”--they being young adventuresses headed brazenly for the divorce court--their idol might suffer the pains and penalties of scandal and alimony. Even the most conservative now admitted that if Mrs. Craighill’s motives in marrying her elderly husband had not been the noblest, she was carrying herself well. Members of her own set, who had been among the original doubters, had waited for the complete disclosure of Mrs. Craighill’s wardrobe before committing themselves, but the taste and sobriety of her raiment disarmed criticism; she was not loud. In another of the circles within the Circle it was questioned whether the newcomer was fitted intellectually to be Roger Craighill’s wife, but Fanny Blair vouched for the worthiness of her stepmother’s interests. “Addie reads everything,” declared Mrs. Blair sweepingly, whereupon Mrs. Craighill was promptly nominated for membership in the Woman’s Club. Many were saying that her conduct, in circumstances the most difficult, had been admirable and the frequency with which, in these first weeks, Fanny Blair had gone about with her, advertised the completeness of the new wife’s acceptance in the family. It was even whispered that Wayne had reformed, and this startling announcement, where it found credence, was attributed to his stepmother’s influence. Roger Craighill and his wife were dining alone at home the evening before the day of their departure for Boston. He had long made a point of dressing for dinner and she wore a gown he had not seen before and whose perfection he praised. “Your taste is exquisite, Addie. I like you in light things; they seem to be a part of you--to express you. You are the most graceful and charming woman in the world.”