“It isn’t generally known yet that he may marry Margaret; if he does--” Mrs. O’Neal held up her hands this time, and her plumes trembled. “I don’t know anything about it, Martha,” Mrs. Allestree said judiciously. Martha O’Neal looked at her shrewdly and smiled, but she changed the subject as she gathered up her furs again preparatory to departure. “Lily Osborne is reported to have made twenty thousand at bridge at the Hot Springs,” she observed casually; “I wish I didn’t entertain an awful doubt of her integrity.” Mrs. Allestree looked up weakly. “You can’t mean she cheats at cards?” Mrs. O’Neal laughed. “She’d be caught at that, my dear, and ostracized. She only happens to know who to fleece, you can see how rich she grows.” “I heard; Gerty told me that Senator Turkman had advised her judiciously in placing some money in mining shares and there has been a rise; Lily told her.” “Humph!” ejaculated Mrs. O’Neal, finally catching the other end of her sable boa; “it’s rather odd, isn’t it, that Senator Turkman didn’t make any money for himself at the same time? He’s terribly embarrassed.” Mrs. Allestree leaned back in her chair and laughed silently. “Martha,” she said finally, “you’re a sinner and a publican, let me alone! I haven’t heard so much gossip in a year.” “My dear Jane,” retorted the other woman dryly, “you live under a hill.” II IN the midst of these eddying swirls of gossip, little muddy pools in the thin ice on which he trod, William Fox made his way with singular self-absorption. Even the vortex of the political campaign had not succeeded in decentralizing his thoughts, and he could not now lose sight of the impending climax. The clamor of applause, the proffered Cabinet portfolio, which was not without significance as an effort on the part of the Administration to bind him to its interests and avert his candidacy in the ensuing year, all fell short of their effect. Such brilliant prospects were indeed stultified to his mental vision by the chilling knowledge that he must soon outrage the feelings of his friends and reanimate his enemies. There were moments when the future which lay before him loomed so black and unfriendly that he could not endure the thought, and he found it well nigh impossible to picture himself playing the rôle of lover and husband to the woman who had twice thwarted his life; first by her careless rejection of his love and then by her determined demand upon his honor. He should marry her, but beyond that bald fact his mind refused to go. He had erred and he would resolutely pay the cost and it would be heavy. He realized that, realized the probable collapse of his career, the long years of building up which must follow, the impossibility of living down the scandal of such a marriage under such circumstances.