Mrs. Allestree poured out the hot water and put in the lemon. “I’m eighty-one,” she remarked, with a queer little smile, “and I’ve rather forgotten my complexion.” “A mistake, my dear Jane,” replied Mrs. O’Neal calmly, taking the steaming cup and slipping back her sables; “I keep young by constant attention to such details; I have my face massaged every day, and even study my bonnets and veils with that point in view.” Mrs. Allestree cast a covert glance at the vibrating head under the large, flaring bonnet with its cascade of ostrich feathers and said nothing, instead she knitted violently. “I suppose you’ve heard the news?” Mrs. O’Neal remarked, after she had sipped the hot water with a slightly wry face; “Margaret White has returned.” Mrs. Allestree dropped a knitting needle. “When?” she exclaimed rather hastily, while she tried to recover the fugitive. “Yesterday; she’s taken the apartment that she had last spring.” Mrs. O’Neal mentioned one of the more expensive but quiet apartment houses; “have you any idea how much alimony she got?” “Good heavens, no!” exclaimed Mrs. Allestree; “Gerty wrote me that White was disposed to be very liberal, and he ought to be!” Mrs. O’Neal nodded. “He’ll marry Lily Osborne, of course, and I shall cut them dead.” “I should hope so!” “Well, of course Lily’s footing was slippery enough at the best and this passes endurance. Mrs. Wingfield told me that it is absolutely certain that she got money from Von Groten for some kind of information; Lily has no conscience and she’s only half an American, thank Heaven! Mrs. Wingfield says she saw the check--” “Martha, that woman will say anything!” Mrs. O’Neal shrugged her shoulders. “So does everybody! If Margaret had only let her get into society she wouldn’t have been so bitter now that she’s got her chance; I often think that it pays to be polite to these parvenus! I only hope Margaret doesn’t expect me to hold her up until this blows over.” Mrs. Allestree smiled involuntarily. “I can’t imagine Margaret in the light of a suppliant,” she said quietly. “A mere _façon de parler_, of course, on my part,” Mrs. O’Neal retorted; “but, Jane, this is all a bad business, it will have to be patched up, but--” she set down her cup and looked earnestly at Mrs. Allestree--“Jane, does she mean to marry your nephew?” Mrs. Allestree dropped her knitting and held up both hands. “Heaven knows, not I!” she replied; “of course she can’t be in the fashion unless she marries again.” “But to marry Fox! That will create a perfect _furore_. Did you know he’s been offered the portfolio of State?” A quiver of excitement passed over Mrs. Allestree’s pale face. “Actually--or only metaphorically, Martha?” “Actually, to-day--I had it from two Cabinet officers.” Mrs. Allestree’s hands fell on her knitting, and she sat looking into the fire. What a nightmare of a complication! To marry Margaret would ruin him, yet not to marry her--