Mrs. Shackleton lunched alone that day. Win generally went to his club for his midday meal, and Maud had gone out early and found hospitality at the house of Pussy Thurston. Bessie had done more thinking that morning in the intervals of her domestic duties--she was a notable housekeeper and personally superintended every department of her establishment--and had decided to dedicate part of the afternoon to the society of Mrs. Willers. One of the secrets of Mrs. Shackleton’s success in life had been her power to control and retain interests in divers matters at the same time. Maud’s unpleasant news had not pushed the even more weighty subject of Mariposa into abeyance. It was as prominent as ever in the widow’s mind. She drove down to _The Trumpet_ office soon after lunch and slowly mounted the long stairs. It would have been a hardship for any other woman of her years and weight, but Bessie’s bodily energy was still remarkable, and she had never indulged herself in the luxury of laziness. At the top of the fourth flight she paused, panting, while the astonished office boy stared at her, recognizing her as the chief’s mother. Mrs. Willers was in her cubby-hole, with a drop-light sending a little circle of yellow radiance over the middle of the desk. A litter of newspaper cuttings surrounded her, and Miss Peebles, at the moment of Mrs. Shackleton’s entrance, was in the cane-bottomed chair, in which aspirants for journalistic honors usually sat. The rustle of Mrs. Shackleton’s silks and the faint advancing perfume that preceded her, announced an arrival of unusual distinction, and Miss Peebles had turned uneasily in the chair and Mrs. Willers was peering out from the circle of the drop-light, when the lady entered the room. Miss Peebles rose with a flurried haste and thrust forward the chair, and Mrs. Willers extricated herself from the heaped up newspapers and extended a welcoming hand. The greetings ended, the younger woman bowed herself out, her opinion of Mrs. Willers, if possible, higher even than it had been before. Mrs. Willers was surprised, but discreetly refrained from showing it. She had known Mrs. Shackleton for several years, and had once heard, from her late chief, that his wife approved her matter and counseled her advancement. But to have her appear thus unannounced in the intimate heat and burden of office hours was decidedly unexpected. Mrs. Shackleton knew this and proceeded to explain. “You must think it queer, my coming down on you this way, when you’re up to your neck in work, but I won’t keep you ten minutes.” She looked at the small nickel clock that ticked aggressively in the middle of the desk. “And I know you are too busy a woman to ask you to come all the way up to my house. So I’ve come down to you.”