at she will come, and will stay
till she is tired."

Nothing of the kind had been settled, but Olive helped Mrs. Burrage
(this time) more than she knew by saying, "Why do you want her to visit
you, Mrs. Burrage? why do you want her socially? Are you not aware that
your son, a year ago, desired to marry her?"

"My dear Miss Chancellor, that is just what I wish to talk to you about.
I am aware of everything; I don't believe you ever met any one who is
aware of more things than I." And Olive had to believe this, as Mrs.
Burrage held up, smiling, her intelligent, proud, good-natured,
successful head. "I knew a year ago that my son was in love with your
friend, I know that he has been so ever since, and that in consequence
he would like to marry her to-day. I daresay you don't like the idea of
her marrying at all; it would break up a friendship which is so full of
interest" (Olive wondered for a moment whether she had been going to say
"so full of profit") "for you. This is why I hesitated; but since you
are willing to talk about it, that is just what I want."

"I don't see what good it will do," Olive said.

"How can we tell till we try? I never give a thing up till I have turned
it over in every sense."

It was Mrs. Burrage, however, who did most of the talking; Olive only
inserted from time to time an inquiry, a protest, a correction, an
ejaculation tinged with irony. None of these things checked or diverted
her hostess; Olive saw more and more that she wished to please her, to
win her over, to smooth matters down, to place them in a new and
original light. She was very clever and (little by little Olive said to
herself) absolutely unscrupulous, but she didn't think she was clever
enough for what she had undertaken. This was neither more nor less, in
the first place, than to persuade Miss Chancellor that she and her son
were consumed with sympathy for the movement to which Miss Chancellor
had dedicated her life. But how could Olive believe that, when she saw
the type to which Mrs. Burrage belonged--a type into which nature
herself had inserted a face turned in the very opposite way from all
earnest and improving things? People like Mrs. Burrage lived and
fattened on abuses, prejudices, privileges, on the petrified, cruel
fashions of the past. It must be added, however, that if her hostess was
a humbug, Olive had never met one who provoked her less; she was such a
brilliant, genial, artistic one, with such a recklessn