could even wink. Then Alice Mendon, who disliked
Margaret Edes and had a shrewd conjecture as to the state of affairs,
but who was broad in her views, pitied Margaret. She arose with
considerable motion and spoke to Daisy Shaw at her right, and broke
the ghastly silence, and immediately everything was in motion and
refreshments were being passed, but Martha Wallingford, who had
written _Hearts Astray_, was not there to partake of them. She was in
her room, huddled in a chair upholstered with cream silk strewn with
roses; and she was in one of the paroxysms of silent rage which
belonged to her really strong, although undisciplined nature, and
which was certainly in this case justified to some degree.

"It was an outrage," she said to herself. She saw through it all now.
She had refused to speak or to read before all those women's clubs
and now this woman had trapped her, that was the word for it, trapped
her.

As she sat there, her sullenly staring angry eyes saw in large
letters at the head of a column in a morning paper on the table
beside her, "'_The Poor Lady_,' the greatest anonymous novel of the
year."

Then she fell again to thinking of her wrongs and planning how she
should wreak vengeance upon Margaret Edes.

Chapter VI

Martha Wallingford was a young person of direct methods. She scorned
subterfuges. Another of her age and sex might have gone to bed with a
headache, not she. She sat absolutely still beside her window, quite
in full view of the departing members of the Zenith Club, had they
taken the trouble to glance in that direction, and some undoubtedly
did, and she remained there; presently she heard her hostess's tiny
rap on the door. Martha did not answer, but after a repeated rap and
wait, Margaret chose to assume that she did, and entered. Margaret
knelt in a soft flop of scented lingerie beside the indignant young
thing. She explained, she apologised, she begged, she implored Martha
to put on that simply ravishing gown which she had worn the evening
before; she expatiated at length upon the charms of the people whom
she had invited to dinner, but Martha spoke not at all until she was
quite ready. Then she said explosively, "I won't."

She was silent after that. Margaret recognised the futility of
further entreaties. She went down stairs and confided in Wilbur. "I
never saw such an utterly impossible girl," she said; "there she sits
and won't get dressed and come down to dinner."

"She