Gertrude shook her head vigorously, her pleasant round face flushing a little too. “I don’t mean to be,” she said, “of course it’s a great temptation; we secretaries know everything, it’s like turning a dress inside out and finding the lining’s only paper-cambric with a silk facing; it’s all a big sham, we’re on the inside and know! But, goodness, it would ruin Fox, and I know, Rose, I know she’s in love with him.” Rose looked steadily away; she, too, saw the ivy leaves fluttering gently in the sunshine as the light breeze rippled across them. Miss English sighed. “Well,” she said, “I don’t care; Margaret’s so unhappy, it seems as if she ought to try over again, only there are the children. I forgot though, Rose, you’re very stiff-necked; I suppose you hate divorces?” Rose shook her head. “I don’t believe in marriage after divorce,” she said; she was very young and she had rigid standards, like a great many people who have never had to test them in their hearts’ blood. Gertrude English opened her mild blue eyes. “Don’t you?” she said, “I didn’t, either, until I saw Margaret; then I began to think it was awful to have to live out a mistake; and there’s White too; really he’s had his trials. I don’t know whether it would be wicked or not for her to marry again.” “It isn’t Scriptural,” said Rose firmly, her face colorless now. Miss English rose and began to put on her gloves. “Well, there isn’t any marrying or giving in marriage in heaven,” she remarked, “so I suppose most of us have got to do it all here. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t find any rush for a poor girl. It’s amazing to me that the male creatures can’t see the advantages of the habit of economy!” she added, with a good humored laugh. “I wish you’d stay to lunch,” said Rose mechanically; she had not Gerty’s keen sense of humor, and her heart felt like lead in her bosom. “I can’t!” the little secretary went to the mirror and adjusted her hat-pins; “I’ve got to go and write notes. Margaret has no head, and she’s probably in bed now. You know she really has heart trouble; I shouldn’t wonder if she died in one of her fandangoes.” “And she’s talking of divorce and marriage!” Rose looked gravely into the other girl’s troubled face. “Of course; isn’t it like her?” Miss English moved slowly to the door, buttoning her gloves, and Rose followed. In the hall she turned. “After all, who’s to blame?” she said stoutly; “Margaret’s awfully unhappy, and Fox--goodness, he used to almost live there, he was there to everything until that row with White over the Cabinet business. I’d like to know what you think of him, Miss Moralist, a man who flirts with a married woman!” “I try not to think of it,” Rose replied quietly. Miss English had opened the door and the sunlight streamed in. “Oh, good gracious!” she exclaimed; “why, Rose, what’s the matter? You’re as white as a sheet!”